


Home to Home Again

by Applea



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Bilbo Baggins is very flummoxed, Eventual relationship, I don't keep my feels seperate, M/M, Neither one of them were meant for this slave/slave owner thing, Slavery, There's angst right along side the fluff, Thorin Oakenshield is in need of some serious TLC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:33:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applea/pseuds/Applea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bilbo Baggins set out to market that day, he certainly didn't intend to purchase a slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Addition

Bilbo, he supposes, never expected this. Well, on one hand, as a gentlehobbit of the Shire he knew that the possibility was there that he would one day own a slave. Certainly a few other respectable hobbits kept a few slaves, but they mainly worked in the fields reaching fruits in tall trees hobbits couldn’t get to easily. Human slaves were useful for outside work, but indoors they tended to bump around. And those who kept slaves in their homes were not entirely respectable at all.

No, Bilbo had never seen himself as a slave holder. Hamfast Gamgee did a fine job in his little garden, and having one of the big folk tramping about making a racket just wasn’t what he considered comfortable. And while Bag End had spacious rooms, lots of closets for clothes, three pantries, and more windows than a normal hobbit hole, it did not have a slave quarter. And Bilbo was quite content with that.

What Bilbo was not content with were those horrid slaver wagons currently rolling through the Shire. Nasty, uncomfortable things leaving deep grooves in the streets and a hideous muck about without so much as a by your leave. They came by every two or three years for market day, and Rosealia Proudfoot always clucked about the damage they did to her garden. And rightly so! Right over the rose bushes, rolling along willy nilly without a care. The Thain always talked about having half a mind to warn them off, but there was a gleam in the slaver’s eyes that always held the small hobbits’ tongues. Especially when they eyed the little inhabitants from atop their tall horses and their hands twitched towards their heavy whips. No one went outside much on market days those years.

It was one such fine year when Bilbo had yet again run out of candles, having an unfortunate tendency to run through them at an alarming rate whenever he purchased a new scroll or some new story. There was nothing for it, it was simply time for a trip to the market.

“Blast and bother,” sighed Bilbo, “Well, at least the sun is up and I have had the benefit of a good Elevensies.” So he tightened his belt, took his best (and heaviest) walking stick, and down to the market he went.

It was a fine spring day indeed. The sun was not overly warm, the small furred bee’s buzzed lazily as the butterflies made their curious swooping ways to the brightly colored flowers that dotted gardens and hills. Just the sort of day that made a hobbit want to twirl his walking stick a bit and whistle.

By the time he had hurried, well, hurried for a hobbit with no real pressing engagement, to the market stalls the sun was seated high in a throne of clouds. Or as it would have occurred to a hobbit’s mind, sitting comfortably in a particularly soft and fluffy armchair.

Ludmilla’s candle stall was farther away than Bilbo would have liked, but he found he could not bother himself overmuch as he hummed a jaunty tune. He quickly choked and I am sorry to say spluttered for a second when the stench of the slaver’s stall a few shops down climbed into his nose, quite ruining his previous good humor. He stopped tapping his stick, ceased his humming, and began to cross the road to walk quietly and quickly (but not too quickly) past the stall, resolutely avoiding any and all eyes that emanated from the filthy occupants therein.

But however resolutely he avoided his eyes, his sharp ears picked up every click of the chains and he felt the weight of all those eyes upon him. And then the calls started.

“Hello my good sir! A glorious morn indeed isn’t it? You look like a fine young fellow!”

And poor Bilbo, who was at this point so discombobulated in his unease made the terrible mistake of looking up. And once he made eye contact he was trapped. He had to Be Polite. And so he called out in a thin, quavering voice from across the street

“Um, well I suppose it is a good morning. I mean, we are all good this morning. What I mean to say, is there is no need for your wares this morning, as I am quite good. Er, on your wares, that is. Good Morning.”

And then he beheld the man who had called out to him. He was a tall fellow (to a hobbit) with a round belly and bow legs. His arms were curiously muscled, with his right arm bulky and his left arm spindly. His face had more scars than eye brows, and Bilbo was not sure entirely where one eyebrow began and the other one ended. His sloping forehead was bare but for a few lanky strings of hair and Bilbo could not entirely swear to his teeth being all his own. Bilbo shuddered at the sight of him and tried to rush on. He gave a small squeak and started forward a bit as the man responded, his voice booming across the dirt road making Bilbo wince.

“But my good sir, you haven’t seen my wares! A fine fellow like yourself surely could use one of these well trained birdies? Why, my good sir, a little fellow like yourself surely could do with someone to help about the house? Come over and see! Just a look, just a look!”

As he was speaking, he gestured to one of his compatriots, who circumvented the table in front of the tent and made a slow round path to Bilbo’s side while Bilbo was curiously caught helplessly maintaining eye contact with the master slaver. Bilbo nearly jumped a foot in the air as the man’s hand came down on his shoulder. He blustered as he was gently steered towards the tent.

“Now, now see here! I’m not your good sir, and I don’t need a great big person crowding up my hobbit hole! So, so begging your pardon, but I think I shall carry on my way now!” And with that he ineffectually waved his stick about, although it came off as though even his stick was quavering.

Both men roared with laughter, and Bilbo clapped his hands over his ears, dropping his stick forgotten into the wheel wells the caravan had left in the fine dirt road. Now the table was upon him, which in deference to their buyers was hobbit sized. Bilbo found himself almost face first into the slaver’s bandy knees. The slaver leaned down, his foul breath washing over Bilbo’s upturned face. Amusement twinkled in his bloodshot eyes, as he gently smirked. “Just take a look Master Hobbit. No harm in looking is there?”  
Mindful of the hand on his shoulders, Bilbo said, a great deal more forcefully than he thought himself capable of in that moment, “I suppose not. But I shall see them out in the light, and not in the dark. Who knows what a shadow might hide? I must know exactly what I’m buying.”

And he congratulated himself for not letting on to the fact he was desperately afraid of that dark tent, and instead managed to sound like he was merely a shrewd business hobbit.  
The slaver sat back, with the twinkle of amusement still in his eye as though he knew exactly what Bilbo thought (and who is to say he didn’t? Certainly not I.) and said “Very well Master Hobbit.”

Bilbo was not quite sure of what he had gotten himself into, but he drew a deep breath and thought to himself “There’s no hope for it, might as well see this through to the end.” He only intended to pretend to examine the hapless shackled figures then escape with his tattered dignity in hand. As the master slaver turned to bring out his wicked merchandise, Bilbo considered bolting. The hand sill on his shoulder increased its pressure as the second man said high above him, quite conversationally, in a tone you or I might talk about the crumpets at tea, “You picked an excellent day Master Hobbit. We have rare ones and strong ones in today. Perfect for any…uses you might have.” And here he leered a bit and eyeballed a skinny young human girl who was led blinking into the sunlight, before she caught his eye and cringed.

By now you may feel sorry for poor Bilbo, trapped and uncomfortable as he was, but dear reader Bilbo felt far sorrier for the broken folk before him. As well he should! Heavy shackles bound their feet and hands, thin rags cloaked them, and numerous scars decorated their thin shoulders. Bilbo intended to look forward at their knees, but he found he could not break away from the human’s eyes. And so Bilbo Baggins of the Shire craned his neck up and despaired.

He had very little comfort in that moment, as I suppose very few would, but what little composure he had was ruined when out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure his height. He whipped his head to the right so fast, he had a crick in his neck for days afterwards. He stared without comprehending for a few long moments at the skinny wild figure before him, with long scraggly hair that was so untamed Bilbo thought the untrimmed beard was his hair.

“Aha!” Cried the repulsively spindly slaver just above his head “Master Hobbit has an eye for good flesh!” The hand on Bilbo’s shoulder tightened cruelly then released as Bilbo stared frightened into the flashing blue eyes of the creature before him.

“Admiring our dwarf, are you Master Hobbit?” came the voice of the master slaver, moving surprisingly quickly on his bowed legs, right behind Bilbo’s other shoulder. Inside Bilbo’s head, his heart was pounding as he almost fainted from the horror. When the slaver’s words came into his head, it began to pound with his heart.

“A dwarf, a dwarf. Not a hobbit, a dwarf. A dwarf, a dwarf! Not a hobbit at all!”

Bilbo was in such a state, he opened his mouth and quite unbidden leapt the words “I’ll take him!”

The master slaver immediately clapped Bilbo on the back with such a forced and sudden joviality it quite almost knocked Bilbo to the ground.

“Splendid, splendid! Let us discuss terms and draw up the papers.”

And that is how Bilbo Baggins found himself with a Dwarf and not a single candle that day.


	2. Grim Tidings

Gandalf the Grey strode through the ruined halls of Erebor. Men of Dale and Elves of Mirkwood were busily conducting quiet conversations in the echoing dark halls as the sound hammers once again rang through Durin’s halls, far, far down in the distant dark.

No song cut through the muttering and watchful dark, no Wrym fire scorched the stones. Everywhere were assessing eyes upon the Wizard (for Wizard he was) and upon the clear cut stones and gold inlaid into the mighty pillars. He strode through the darkness intermittently marred by torches. Elvish eyes beheld the worried countenance of a wizard pushed too far and drew back. Men saw the set of his shoulders and drew behind rubble, instinctively avoiding their eyes, though they were sure nothing could be seen of them in the dark. But mostly sure is not a strong enough guarantee against an angry wizard, so you see they were quite wise to hide.

Gandalf halted at the end of a tunnel stoppered with stone rubble, and knocked twice with his staff. There was no answering taps to mix with the lonely echoes. He knocked again thrice, and this time a small scurrying sound could be heard. Between two great boulders, a small rock was carefully moved aside and a Dwarfish eye peeked through.

“Oh Gandalf, thank goodness you’ve come!” piped up a well-known voice.

A hushed and worried baritone, mindful of the echoes and listening ears, came back across the little gap. “Oin, what in goodness name has befallen the company?”

“Oh Mister Gandalf, it was terrible! Once roused and tricked out of his nest, the dragon flew in a rage outside the mountain, burning all in his fury. We barricaded him out, and made strong our provisions and fasthold as we’d planned. But the great dragon did not come back to roost as we thought. He was slain by men from Dale, we know not who. Our war preparations were no longer needed for the Wyrm, but now the men of Dale marched against us. Hearing of our fortune, Mirkwood sent a mighty army, led by Thranduile himself. Our kin marched from the mountains, but were followed by foul orcs and goblins riding fearsome wargs that beset all upon the battlefield. Thorin, Fili, Kili, Gloin, Bofur, and Bifur joined our kinsmen on the battlefield while we held down the fortress. Only Kili, Gloin, Bofur, and Bifur have returned. We know not what has befallen Thorin or Fili, but we fear the worst.”  
Here the voice wavered, and tear shined in the eye through the crack.

“Oh Master Oin,” came the voice of the wizard “I fear much evil has happened in my absence. I have seen the battlefield, and it is a terrible sight to behold. Some great evil holds the bodies where they lay and none can move them. The carrion crows circle in droves and the dead lay thick as dew upon the blades of grass. I fear my business in the South was not as successful as I believed. The dead lay beyond count at your gates. I am afraid you are quite surrounded Master Dwarf. Men and Elves walk the halls of your forefathers, though I see you had the wits to barricade all the treasure and great halls away with you.”

“Well,” came the voice of Oin small in grief yet with a twist of good humor “We have been planning for quite a while. And there is nothing a dwarf knows better than the halls of his fathers and how to collapse a tunnel.”

“Indeed Master Oin.” Came the pensive reply, the wizard’s nose (which was the only thing able to be seen of him through the crack) was tapped thoughtfully.  
“I shall apply all my powers to undoing this terrible mess. I shall try to uncover what happened to your kinsman, though I make no promises. Even a wizard cannot find everything there is.”

And they both left the meeting spot with their hearts troubled, no lighter for the grim news on both sides.


	3. A Monstrous Trade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry about the delay, got into a ski accident and then my computer decided to go on strike. Hope you enjoy despite the timing!

“Oh confound and confusticate those slavers!” thought Bilbo worriedly. “What on earth am I going to do with a slave? And such a wild looking one at that! Why, he looks like he could kill me in my sleep without blinking an eye! Oh drat and double drat Bilbo Baggins, you’ve really put your foot in it now. Well, there’s nothing for it now but to try to drag yourself out of this mess you’ve put yourself in.”

And with that he glanced back nervously behind him at the stony face of the dwarf who’s chain he now held in one hand while he clutched his reclaimed walking stick in the other until his knuckles went white.

The dwarf, for his part, quietly followed, but his eyes never left Bilbo’s back. Bilbo couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being judged like a cat judges a mouse it wonders if it’s going to be worth the trouble.

By the time they arrived at his beautiful green door, Bilbo was ready to collapse. All he wanted was a nice luncheon and a hot bath. But he rather supposed those would have to wait while he figured out what to do with his newest purchase.

His newest purchase, for his part, strode into Bag End as though it was he who was leading. He pulled the door closed with a resounding click. Bilbo started. Now he was well and truly trapped with a wild dwarf. The chain in Bilbo’s hand may as well have been gossamer for all the good Bilbo felt it did.

Now readers, I suppose you sitting at home reading this, all snug and secure without a very strong smelling dwarf looming over you with brawny forearms crossed over a chest that seemed like a barrel, think the answer to Bilbo’s problems is very simple indeed. But you must remember dear readers that is not easy to think clearly when being loomed over and have been bothered and turned around by smooth tonged slavers all morning. Poor Bilbo tried his best you see, but he was flustered and scared and I don’t imagine you yourselves would have done much better in his place.

So you must forgive him, dear reader, when the first thing he said (or rather embarrassingly squeaked) once he turned around was “Let’s get you out of those clothes, shall we?

 

For of course what he _meant_ was that the dwarf probably wanted a bath judging by the amount of filth that was matted into his hair and clothes, and that as a good host he would be happy to draw a hot bath (especially if it meant that the dwarf’s scent would stop assaulting his nostrils.)

If Bilbo had ever been more afraid of his life, he could not recall it at that moment. The terrible stare that the dwarf pierced him with took his breath away.

And then, slowly, the dwarf began to pull the rags he wore over his head.

Mortified, Bilbo blushed a fiery crimson. “Oh goodness, I mean, not here! Let’s get you to the bathroom first!”

The dwarf, now clothed in only a loincloth, raised an eyebrow as he slowly let his grey top cloak fall to the ground.

Bilbo had no idea where to look. He didn’t want to invade or be uncouth, but he couldn’t look away for fear the dwarf would attack. His eyes went from the dwarf’s face, dropped quickly down to his feet, and looked up again only to be captivated by the scars.  
And there were a multitude of scars. The dwarf was too skinny, for all that his muscles corded his body. There was not an inch of skin that did not bear the mark of abuse. When he beheld the tops of his shoulders that were not covered by the dwarf’s wild hair Bilbo could not tell where one scar began and another one ended.

After several long moments, Bilbo turned his head, nauseous, head pounding.

“Does my appearance displease you…master?” the dwarf calmly said, with just a hint of a scoff at the end.

Bilbo raised his head, face white, and answered honestly.

“It does. That someone could be so cruel as to…it is monstrous.”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “You partook in a monstrous trade, Master Hobbit.”

Something crumpled in Bilbo then. 

“Yes, I rather suppose I did.” he said softly.

“Shall I gather you wish to return me then?”

Bilbo’s head jerked up as he stared into the dwarf’s eyes, mouth agape.

“Why would I ever..?”

“Well,” responded the dwarf calmly, “Clearly my body is too scarred for your tastes. You bought me to be a pleasure slave, Master Hobbit, when my former masters clearly tricked you into thinking me more…whole than you prefer. I do wish you the best of luck getting your full price for me back though. You are not the only one who’s tried to return me.”

As the dwarf spoke Bilbo’s face got redder and redder, and he began to splutter.

“I do believe you’ve…! Well you’ve just, you’ve got the wrong idea completely!”

Here the dwarf’s lips curled up in a small almost unseen bemused smile.

Bilbo took a deep breath in and let it whoosh out of his lungs.  
“Look, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I didn’t buy you to be a…a concubine or anything like that.”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow and then gestured to his mostly naked body.

“Oh! Oh my! I um…well, you see I only meant that you should probably take a bath. No offense, but I’m sure you’d like to get clean and um…maybe some new clothes, but I’m afraid I don’t have anything that’s your size, but I’m sure we could find something, and er, I’m not, well, I’m not expecting…”

The dwarf couldn’t help it. He let out a barking laugh. But when Bilbo met his eyes quickly, his laugh died and he hunched his shoulders quickly.

“I’m sorry for laughing at you Master.”

Bilbo’s head whirled at the sudden changes, and he cried out “Oh, my, don’t worry my good sir!”

Ashamed at the now contrite and cringing figure before him, a figure he was sure was not meant to cringe, little Bilbo Baggins looked up at his purchase earnestly. “Oh bother, we have gotten off to the wrong foot haven’t we?” And quite recovering his manners, he gestured to himself and gave a little head nod. “I am Bilbo Baggins,” here he gestured around him, “of Bag End.”

The dwarf met his eyes with stormy grey ones, and giving a bow, his words echoing in the foyer;

“And I am Thorin Oakensheild. At your service.”


	4. Of Baths and Buttons

Bilbo found himself quietly reflecting about his conundrum as he drew the bath. 

Slavery, to a hobbit, was for life. Never in Shire reckoning had there been a freed slave. One heard stories, of course one did, grand Elvish tales of human slaves winning the hearts of their Elvish masters and their forbidden love overcoming the chains of slavery. But truth be told most Hobbits, and indeed most of Middle Earth, held no truck with those fanciful tales. There was no true way out of slavery but to be bought back by your relatives and then quietly never asked to do anything again. 

Of course if you were asked to do something you did it, as a slave couldn't refuse an order from their master (especially if their master was now their mother.) And it was considered a very sad thing indeed, but that was the way things worked. 

Once, long ago, there had been a human Lord who had become a slave, and while his tale is not the one you and I are principally concerned with, Bilbo reflected upon it none the less. The tale concerned Fréawine, he whom had been bought back by his father Fréa, King of Rohan. And when the great King died, he had his son's ownership conferred to the Crown, and as long as he was next in line and ruled over his kingdom, he was his own master. He went on to do a great many other things, but you and I cannot tarry with his story or goodness knows we would be here for many years before we finally got back to the matters at hand. Of course now you know enough to be getting along with, I think, and at any rate that was about all Bilbo knew for the only one who could properly tell the full story was Lord Elrond, and when we finally get to his portion of the story you will see that Bilbo did not think to ask him.

And so, you see, it did not even occur to Bilbo to free his slave. There were no proper words to express the idea in his mind, though he turned it over and worried at it in his mind like a something particularly leafy stuck in his teeth. Even in the grand Elvish tales the two lovers usually died right after the grand scene where the chains broke under the light of such a powerful love. The stuff of legends indeed, which Bilbo Baggins was very much not, thank you very much.

Still though, while there were no instances of a slave being /freed,/ there were plenty of cases of slaves /running away/. Usually accompanying violence. Bilbo shuddered as his thoughts took him to poor Tommero Brandybuck, choked to death in his own bed. His very distant cousin by Shire reckoning, and when they found his slave it of course had to be put down. (Bilbo privately thought Tommero had been perhaps too harsh with his slave on some occasions, and one occasionally did hear the old rumors of the more...unusual scars, but still, in his own bed! A very nasty business all around, he thought, and I dare say he was righter than he knew.)

In any case, no one could escape Farmer Maggot's bloodhounds, as many a hungry hobbit tween had discovered when trying to pilfer some of his mushrooms. Bilbo had no doubt if his very wild slave tried anything, Bilbo would be quite powerless to stop him, just as sure as he was that Thorin would never get away.

Bilbo shook himself as the water rose to the top of the bath. No one would by dying at all, if he had any say about it!

Hiding any trace of his darker thoughts from his face (although he was perhaps not entirely successful) he turned to Thorin as he gestured towards the water.

“Well, there it is, piping hot. If it’s too hot, just turn this tab and cold water will run. The towels are over there, and when you’re done just, er, give a shout. I’m going to try to find clothes for you, and maybe a spot of luncheon, hey?” 

He babbled with somewhat forced cheer, and blushed a rosy red as Thorin began to unwind his loin cloth.  
Poor Bilbo was so embarrassed he didn’t know quite what to do. So he edged towards the door and as quickly as he could without seeming as though he was running. He kept avoiding eye contact, but his eyes didn’t seem to know where to rest, roving between Thorin’s eyes, to his mouth, to just behind his ear, to his shoulders, and to the one place he tried to avoid.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips as he stared into the hobbit’s eyes and deliberately let his loincloth drop to the ground. 

Bilbo immediately turned crimson, clapped a hand over his eyes, and almost ran into the door in his haste to get out. As the door slammed behind the fleeing hobbit, Thorin couldn’t hold in a deep rolling chuckle as he sank to the floor, overcome with more emotions than he had allowed himself to feel in almost a year.

Tears began to leak from his eyes, first from mirth, and then his gasps turned to sobs, alone for the first time in months. The dwarf held on with both hands to the copper edge of the tub with a desperate grip as he bowed his head and let his emotions wrack through him. He was unable to stand and lower himself into his first bath in recent memory for quite some time.

Thorin son of Thrain held onto the copper until his hands burned, and he laughed through his tears as he sobbed through his smile.

 

Bilbo, completely unaware of the turmoil happening in his bathing room, was going over the contents of his third closet to find clothes that would fit his dwarf's stockier and taller frame. He had quite a pile in his hands and if anyone had been around to hear him, they would have heard a litany of small exclamations muffled by a veritable mountain of cloth and brass buttons.

"Oh dear, too small, that one's from cousin Beryl, too fine, just look at the tear in this one, no no, ah, this one's a tad too long in the leg, should be perfect, now where on earth did I get this cloak?"

Once he was satisfied with his pile, Bilbo tottered over to the west blue guest bedroom and began to sort and fold the clothing in that peculiarly fussy yet practical way of hobbits everywhere. After placing the clothes at the foot of the bed, and fluffing up the pillows as he surreptitiously smelled the sheets (clean enough, thank heavens for the lavender spray he'd thought to tuck away betwixt the sheets) he began to plan out lunch.

Although, truth be told by this time it was almost time for afternoon tea, but you mustn't blame Bilbo, for if you had been as flummoxed as he had been I hardly think you would have noticed the time fly by either.

Bilbo went to his pantry and thanked his lucky stars he had thought to cook moon scones that morning. He brought out the scones, clotted creme, a loaf of fresh honey bread, apples, strawberries, a crisp head of lettuce and strong carrots to make a salad, sliced ham, a fine big cucumber, watercress, and mushrooms.

As he prepared the tea, chopped up the salad, plated the scones, and made sandwiches he fretted that it wouldn't be enough. He was used to having much more time to prepare a tea for more than just one.

 

Thorin emerged from the bathing room, his hair in brushed clean and dripping, with one of the hobbit’s fluffy green towels around his chest, the ends not quite reaching his scared ankles so recently unshackled. For you see, Bilbo had been quite too flustered to remember to leave a robe and Thorin certainly did not want to appear before his master naked until it was absolutely unavoidable.

He crept quietly down the hall (for a dwarf anyways) holding onto the chain that connected to his collar, willing it not to make a single clink. As he softly tread through the gently curving halls of the hobbit hole, his eyes took in the wood paneling, soft carpets and inlaid floors, the polished chairs, and the various bits and bobs that make up a very well kept hobbit hole indeed. 

Thorin was fortunate that the hobbit hole only had one long passage; else he might have wandered for a good deal more time than his stomach was willing to spend. As it was, his sharp eyes noticed no places suitable for tying unruly slaves to, and quite a few polished chairs that looked as though they could be broken into a weapon if it came to that. 

He was not quite sure what to make of his new master. Bilbo was his first hobbit master, and he did not act in the ways Thorin would have quite suspected. All the slaves in the tent had perked up when they realized they were traveling to Hobbiton, for the rumor was that hobbit masters feed one very well indeed, although they left their slaves outside. But aside from the raptures of the food not much was known about hobbit masters. Certainly the ones in Bree didn’t seem to treat their slaves different than human masters. Thorin resolved to wait and hold his judgment. If Hobbit masters turned out the same or somehow inexplicably worse than Elvish masters he supposed his newest master would be much easier to overpower. Why, his hands alone were much bigger than Bilbo’s fragile looking neck.

 

Thorin was interrupted from his thoughts and saved a good deal more wandering as his ears picked up the sound of quiet humming and the clatter of dishes. As he drew nearer, he began to pick up some words.

Pass the butter and pass the sauce  
Place the plates and unfold the cloth  
Serve the meat and break the bread  
Stand the clock upon its head!  
Open the doors and the pantries  
Hang the lanterns in all the trees  
There’s company at the door  
So clean the mantle and sweep the floor  
Pass the plates and give them more!

 

There was much more of this, as I’m sure you know, for hobbits can sing at great length about parties and especially food. Bilbo was about to start on the refrain that detailed exactly what sort of food was about to be eaten when he felt a prickling on his neck and heard a creak on the floorboards. 

He jerked up from the tea sandwiches he was fussing over, and a nervous smile appeared on his face.

“Ah, Thorin! There you are. Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot to give you a change of clothes! You sit down here and I’ll go grab you some clothes. I’ve put everything in the blue room- oh my, I don’t suppose you know where that is do you? Well you just sit right there, I’ll be back in just a moment. Oh, let me shut the curtains, wouldn’t want to give good Mister Gamgee a heart attack would we?” and here he let out a nervous though genuine sort of giggle.

Thorin, now seated in one of Bilbo’s good sturdy chairs with the towel fallen to cover just his lap, looked quite befuddled at the prattering of his master and confused at the sheer amount of food before him. I am quite sure his young nephews Fili and Kili (of whom Oin spoke, Fili being rather worriedly misplaced, though I am sure we shall soon discover what happened to him) would have paid a rather great deal to have seen the expression on their lost uncle’s face.

Bilbo cheerfully continued on, unaware of exactly how unusual the expression on his slave’s face was. 

“I think for supper we should have a roast. You look far too thin; you should have some meat to fatten you up. Let me know if you’d like more of anything. I’m sure I can find more in the second pantry. Please, eat! I’ll just pop off and bring you something to wear. Be back in a moment!”

He disappeared down the corridor, leaving Thorin staring at all the food and completely, I am sorry to say, flummoxed on what to do next.

He was uncomfortable in the chair, having not sat in one for longer than he could recall. He couldn’t decide if he should eat or not. He had been given a direct order to, but the way the table had been laid he couldn’t tell what was his portion and what was his masters. He was also unaware, as goodness knows anyone would be in his position, which foods were the most expensive. Surely his master wouldn’t want him to eat the fine food?

Deciding quickly to have some food on his plate, lest his master become angry at defying his first order, (and how Gandalf, had he been here, would have chuckled to know that the first order a hobbit gave his slave was to eat more food) he grabbed one of the many scones and began to eat it as neatly as he could.

His hunger and Grandma Admanta’s scone recipe defied his neat intentions though. Soon there were crumbs everywhere and he had not a bite left of scone on his plate. Surely, Thorin reasoned to himself, his master would need to see something on his plate when he got back. So he took another scone. 

By the time Bilbo trotted back, quite laden down with neatly folded clothing parcels, Thorin had gone through almost all of the scones.

Hobbits, as you know, can walk almost silently, provided they are not stepping on a creaking floor. And when Bungo Baggins had built Belladona Took their hobbit hole (using a good portion of her money), he had put in good strong floorboards. Therefore, it is quite understandable, although no less amusing to prankish nephews, that Thorin nearly jumped out of his seat when Bilbo cheerfully announced “I’m back!”

Thorin immediately looked down at the sheer amount of crumbs and felt a wave of shame and fear. He immediately cried out to the astonished Bilbo “Master Bilbo you have my deepest apologies, I shall clean this up right away!”

Fearing what could have befallen his poor table cloth and upset his poor slave so, Bilbo rushed forward to peer down at his table. Imagine his surprise when he beheld only a few crumbs and a great deal more food than he expected to be still on his table. Dumping the clothes in Thorin’s nerveless arms, he lifted up the plate. Seeing nothing there, he bent down and peered under the table. Unable to spot anything amiss, he scrutinized his chair, and then walked around the quivering Thorin, who’s dignity was only saved by the leg of one of the breeches Bilbo had thrust at him.

Failing to find a fault, Bilbo cried out “My dear fellow, whatever in the matter?”

White faced, Thorin began to apologize for the crumbs and for taking so many of the scones.

Now I suppose you will feel very badly towards Bilbo, but he couldn’t help himself. He laughed, quite relieved that nothing was seriously wrong. Thorin’s pride, had he been anywhere near his old self, would have been very badly damaged at the merry peals of laughter.

Unsure, Thorin stood there mutely holding the pile of cloth until Bilbo explained to him that it really was nothing to be concerned over, and that he expected the dwarf to eat a good deal more when he came back from getting dressed.

Thorin got even at him though, the moment Bilbo realized just what had happened to the towel. He grew quite red and clapped a hand over his eyes, as he stammered the direction to the nearest bedroom with a twitchy wave of his free hand.

And serves him right! Still blushing all the way to the roots of his curly hair, he set about kindly wiping away the crumbs that had worried his slave into the towel on the floor, which he folded up and placed in the kitchen next to the used drying cloths so as not to forget to put it in the hamper later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fréawine, son of Fréa, was the fourth king of Rohan, who became king of Rohan at the age of 65 upon the death of his father. That's more than enough tome to run into a heap of trouble, don't you think?
> 
> Adamanta Chubb (the source of the excellent scone recipe) was the wife of the very famous Old Gerontius Took, whom Bilbo is related to through his mother Belladonna.  
> Tommero Brandybuck can only be really called a very distant cousin of Bilbo's if one includes branches of the family married into by a cousin. Hence why Tommero is only called so by Shire reckoning, for hobbits enjoy a multitude of cousins in just this way.  
> (...Don't quote me on that, for I quite made him up, unable to ascribe an actual hobbit to the despicable deeds alluded to that Tommero performed upon his hapless slave.)


	5. A Great Confrontation

And now, dear readers, comes that part of the tale that poor Bilbo and Thorin were unaware of, safe in their little hobbit hole. For it is not often that news of the great Elven King of Mirkwood’s halls comes to the Shire.

Thranduil, for it is he that ruled the fair halls of that mighty cavern deep in the leafy boughs of Mirkwood, was standing tall in front of his carven throne, formed from the twisted roots of a mighty living oak tree, his crown of aspen branches and woodland flowers (for spring was upon the Mirkwood) rising imperiously from his flaxen hair. He stared down upon the intruder upon his halls, whom he had recently cried out to with the name of Elf-Friend, locked in a battle of wills.

Gandalf (for it was he whom had asked and been granted audience with the fair king) remained singularly unmoved, his beetle brows drawn low over his flashing eyes. His grey cloak swathed around his form, a gnarled hand leaning on a worn and weathered staff. But suddenly, the silent eleven eyes that marveled at the silent challenge being exchanged in their Great Hall beheld a change. The stooped figure straightened, no longer frail, but held upright with a terrible purpose. The weathered hand no longer leaned on the staff but gripped it with the strength that was unguessed at, the staff no longer a beaten and worn stick but a grey pillar more terrible and beautiful to behold than any sword. His eyes flashed like stars raining from the heavens, and it was with a terrible voice that shook the carven halls that Gandalf called out to Thranduil.

“Do not dare deny to me, O King, that slavers have indeed passed through your lands with the sick and dying of the battlefield. You have bought back your kin that fell afoul of them, and if I am very much not mistaken you healed the sick in your cells deep under this rock. It does you credit, Elven King, that you heal all the sick that come through your lands- though I am sure they made free with an exchange of silver for your natural kindness, I am not interested in being trifled with. There were friends of mine in that caravan if your own people do not lie.”

With a voice edged in frost, the Elven King responded thus:

“Indeed Mithrandir, one named Elf-Friend, slavers came upon these halls from the battlefield. But they were not welcomed into these halls. My kin who live in the forest bought back our own, and any healing was done outside. We are not so foolish, nor yet so callow, to allow men who make their strongholds fast on the ill-fortune of others into our stronghold. I say to you, Mithrandir, what slaves came into these halls from the battlefield were sent away again unless these caverns birthed them.”

For you see, the Eleven King was filled with a cold fury at the words of the wizard, and he did not tell all he knew. He had, of course, seen and interviewed the slaves that had been sent and led by his kin to these halls about their whereabouts and whom they were. He had indeed seen several dwarves and had sent them away to be healed in his subject's tree outposts, but Gandalf had not mentioned the ones he was looking for by name and the King would speak no more than he was directly asked. For such is the way of all elves, especially angry ones. The King of Mirkwood was not a High Elf, for his people had tarried in the shadows of the forest when his kin had traveled East and had become learned, growing cleverer and wiser. So while he was wise, he was perhaps not as wise as he should have been. If he had, perhaps he would have spoken more kindly to the wizard from the beginning.

But at any rate, it was too late now. And even if he had told Gandalf all he knew, he would not have been able to help much. For such is the stubbornness of dwarves, that when Thorin and Fili as well as good number of their kin were brought before the King, Thorin and Fili and shut their mouths tight and refused to answer who they were, angry at the elves marching against their home. They refused to be ransomed home again, determined that not a speck of their treasure (for now that it was in their hands and their companions held the fortress they considered it all theirs, and rightly so) should flow into the Elven King’s hands.

And so, as Gandalf was soon to find, they had been sold to different elves who made their home in the trees and in roughhewn huts upon the ground, as many of Thranduil's people did. The elves that had purchased them, I am sorry to say, found the two dwarves (and a good number of the others) far too warlike and too hopeful of being able to escape back to their kin to be able to break into good slaves. Though they certainly did try, locking both of them deep in the King's caverns with no contact with each other or any else but their masters. It is worth noting that the Elves did not starve them, for they were not yet that cruel, nor naturally inclined to the inventive and terrible punishments of Goblins (and some of the more evil Men). If Thorin or Fili had been a bit more careful and crafty, they might have made good on their first number of escape plans or they might have remained there under their elvish masters until Gandalf could find them again. Goodness knows that would have saved a lot of trouble on everyone’s behalf!

But alas, they did not, and upon careful interrogation Gandalf could only discover that dwarves matching their description had been sold back to the slavers for much less than their purchasing price. And he cursed, knowing his journey was far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, had terrible luck on the ski slopes and got myself a nifty cast. Updates shall become more regular now that I'm both literally and metaphorically on my feet. Thanks so much for continuing to send me kudos! Really warmed my heart as the ice packs cooled the rest of me down haha


	6. Of Beatings and Baths

Thorin was mightily confused. He was also cleaner and better fed than he could ever recall, and he could recall back to his childhood years. Behind his ears had not been this clean since his mother had scrubbed them herself. Not to say that he was complaining, nor that his mother had shirked in her matronly duties, but after almost a year of slavery and at the insistence of Bilbo, Thorin had made very free indeed with the soap. 

And a goodly portion of his master's larders! Skin that had once stretched thin over much  diminished muscles now began to become flush with health as the gauntness of his face began to recede. Indeed, if he was not careful, Thorin was well on his way to once again becoming chubbier than perhaps a king should be. He had yet to cross the threshold to Hobbit-like proportions, but it was not for lack of trying on Bilbo's part! His master had been feeding him at quite a ludicrous pace for a dwarf (though of course it was no different than a normal hobbit feeding schedule with a few extras slipped in for "his poor ill-fed dwarf" which Thorin was Not To Know.)

For nearly a week he had been ensconced in Bag End, and he could not puzzle out just what his master planned to do with him. I don't suppose Bilbo himself knew what on earth he was going to do with his slave, but the thought that Bilbo himself was just as confused as he was never fully entered Thorin's mind, as suspicious of slave owners as he was. 

He had been keeping himself occupied chiefly with the recuperation of his health, though he did try to help around the house. The truth was that Thorin was no great cook, nor was he able to adequately clean to Bilbo's very particular (and truthfully somewhat fussy) standards.

It was a very bored Thorin then, who had decided to take a risk and snoop about while Bilbo was away attending a birthday party. He had already explored all of the pantries in his disastrous attempts to cook, and had similarly perused most of guest rooms and hallway (for although it was very long there was only one) in his few attempts at cleaning. That left few new areas to explore, but Thorin was by nature a moderately curious and immensely tenacious fellow, and so on he went until he came to the larger and charmingly cluttered room that served as Bilbo's study and library. Most of the books concerned themselves with Elves and Hobbit business (not that the two were often intertwined) and while Thorin held no especially great love for the elves, he did mark a few in his thoughts to be looked through later. What principally interested him was the tales and trivia of Hobbit life he found around him. Viewing his actions as necessary reconnaissance on the natural inclinations of his most curious master to date, Thorin, once and future King Under The Mountain, settled down to a long stint of reading about Hobbit farming techniques, land disputes, festival recollections, genealogy (for there was a lot of that, hobbits being especially fond of family trees, a trait that Thorin was somewhat gratified to read of for it was one of the first true loves Dwarves and Hobbits seemed to share) and other bits and bobs that made up the hobbit recollection of the day. No doubt there would be many a historian today that would cheerfully ascribe to every indignity and more to get a hold of that simple library, for as you know today it is quite rare to find a Hobbit, let alone one that will talk to one of the Big Folk such as you or I.

It was reaching for just such a volume (the fourteenth out of twenty, concerning the illustrious and not entirely respectable Took branch of Bilbo's family stemming from his mother's side) that Thorin knocked down a dusty and forgotten-looking tomb. Upon picking it up and going about setting it to rights, Thorin's breath caught and he stared dumbly down at the thick volume in his hands. For it was completely written in Dwarvish runes, the like Thorin had not seen for many moons, ever since he was so rudely removed from the great halls of his forefathers in Erebor.

Sinking down in shock to the carpeted floor, Thorin opened the book with shaking hands. Eagerly he read as fast as he could, and while the tears began to cloud his sight he dashed them away quickly, begrudging even those few seconds lost. It did not matter to Thorin that it was a treaties about trade agreements between Moria and the Blue Mountains, concerning the value of a collapsed tunnel that had been assured would have been very profitable, yet had turned out for nought when dwarves from the mines of Moria had accidentally collapsed said tunnel in the Blue Mountains while assisting their brethren. The subject did not matter to Thorin one whit, it was a connection to his home.

As he calmed further, Thorin noticed something extraordinary.  There on slips of paper tucked away, and written in the margins, were notes in Bilbo's careful spindly handwriting. Clearly Bilbo had been trying to translate the earlier chapters before the tomb got the better of him and he had quite given up.

Now, a word on the hobbit hole and to be more to the point, the library Thorin found himself in. It was one of the fortunate rooms to be graced with a window, for of course it wound around the Hill. Although it did have a fine view of the road, it was quite in the opposite direction of the direction one would take if one were to travel to Primula Took's hobbit hole across the way. And Bungo Baggins had made very sure when placing each room that it was done with care and consideration for it's use. Therefore it was the farthest room from the front door, and thus the quietest and least likely to be disturbed.

So it was that when Bilbo arrived back home after a fine birthday picnic, his face flushed from dancing and excellent dandelion and apple cordial, the quiet noises of a contented hobbit entering his own home never reached the library.

And when Bilbo walked near silently (which is to say,the usual way for a hobbit to walk) back to his library to put away the very thoughtful present of a book of tales Primula had given him, he quite by accident shocked poor Thorin very badly.

For Thorin had completely lost track of the time, (not that it would have helped him very much anyways, having no notion of how long a hobbit birthday fete went on for), and had not even noticed Bilbo's entrance into the room until Bilbo had let out a very surprised "Oh!"

Thorin shot up like one of those curious Jack-in-a-Box toys that frightened and delighted young hobbit children so, the book clutched to his chest with a few pages becoming hopelessly crumpled.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Oh dear! It's quite all-"

Both Bilbo and his slave, having both began to speak at the same time, now found themselves in the curious and agonizing moment of silence when neither knew whom should speak first.

It was Thorin, anxious to apologize before his chance was lost to a rageful beating, who began first.

"I'm so sorry master, it's only I thought I might clean and I came across this book, and oh no," and here he gave a heartbroken gasp when he noticed the pages crumpled tightly in his fist, "I'll fix this, I swear on the halls of my forefathers, and I am a dwarf who takes such things very solemnly indeed-"

If Bilbo had not at that moment interrupted him Thorin would have gone on to speak to great length about the honor of his word, for he had always tended towards long winded speeches and honor always inspired a speech in a dwarf, no matter how flustered.

"Oh please don't be alarmed dear fellow,I, I quite understand! You're quite the only one in this house who can read that, I, I well I only bought it because I saw it had an appendix in Common Tongue in the back and I thought I might be able to translate some of it. Silly of me really, to think I could pick up a language with just an appendix, but I'm quite a fast learner you see and..."

And here Bilbo trailed off, seeing the walled-off expression on his slave's face and the minute trembling on his hands.

Looking from the pages of the abused book,to his slave, Bilbo made a decision. Speaking in a clear tone with a determined look in his eye, Bilbo held out his hand for the book.

As Thorin mutely handed it over to him, Bilbo grasped one edge but did not take it. Both master and slave held one side of the book as Bilbo with a clear tone spoke his decision.

"My Slave, I have not yet beat you, and I do not intend to start now. But in payment for ruining some of this book, I ask that you teach me how to read it."

You will see that Bilbo still had not properly learned how to address a slave. But it was truthfully, the first real order he had given to his slave. And it was with clear eyes that Thorin answered his first true order with the only answer a slave could give his master.

"I accept."


	7. In Which There is an Appendix

Now, as I'm sure you know, the dwarves jealously guard their language. Teaching an outsider Khuzdul is almost unheard of, though there was the famous tale of the Elf Eöl of whom we cannot speak about presently. I myself know only a few words, and it is quite a shame that in this day and age the language of the dwarves is almost lost to us.

So while Thorin answered like an obedient slave, he had no intention of teaching Bilbo anything. And if Bilbo knew what he was asking, I'm sure he would not have dared give the order he had. And while perhaps an other, more beaten down dwarf would have contented themselves with merely feeding their captor nonsensical translations, or less clever ones would be beaten to death before consenting to sit down at a lesson table, Thorin felt the spark of mischievous rebellion fan a flame within him. Poor Bilbo was in for quite the rough ride, if he only knew it!

Tucked in to the bed in the blue room, Thorin listened to every creak with a practiced ear, a part of him keeping watch for the drunken tread of former violence while the other part fell into a light doze with a small and quite frightening grin affixed on his face.

The next morning it was a more rested but now more bewildered Thorin who faced the veritable mountain of breakfast before him. Every day he still couldn't come to terms with the sheer amount of food he was expected to consume. Dwarves were big on feasts, but this! This was more than the feasting they had thrown for him when he reclaimed the mountain. At least that had only been a few nights! And he wasn't expected to finish it by himself! Not even Bombur, he was sure, could have finished so much. Yet there was his master, day after day eating all this and expecting his slave to keep pace. The other slaves in the caravan hadn't known the half of it when they spoke of how the halflings fed their slaves!

Bilbo, meanwhile, was both ecstatic and worried. He was very pleased and happy to have finally found a use for his slave, and yet he worried at how little he ate. He fretted quietly to himself that perhaps he should get a doctor. But he was also quite sure that none of the Shire doctors had ever seen a dwarf, let alone knew what was healthy for them. Bilbo cursed at how unusual his slave was and at the lack of precedent. Not for the last time!

He was terrifically eager to start his lessons, yet he had a few errands to run. So like the few times before, he instructed Thorin to wash the dishes and to stay indoors for goodness sake. (After the very first breakfast was over and Thorin had first picked up a dish Bilbo had practically yanked the china away from Thorin. Bilbo later would swear Thorin had almost chipped them, while Thorin to his dying day denied it. He told everyone who heard the story that if anyone wanted to really hurt Bilbo Baggins they would have to go after the plates, since he hated someone chipping them more than anything else.) As Bilbo opened the round door to the bright sunny day, he again cautioned Thorin to stay inside, his wagging finger implying an "or else".  
   
Thorin never asked about the unspoken "or else", as his newfound experiences filled in quite a few answers, none of which he wanted. Most of all, to his surprise, he found he didn't want to know what Bilbo would do for fear of shattering this current idyll. He had no doubt that Bilbo would punish him severely if disobeyed, but truth be told he was enjoying the fragile delusion he kept himself in that his new master really was as gentle as he seemed.

Bilbo Baggins set off with a cheerful whistle, swinging his walking stick. He stopped off at the tailors and picked up several packages wrapped up in brown paper. Then he went to the butchers and got several other packages wrapped up in brown paper, but these he took care to carry in a bag so that juices wouldn't get onto his waistcoat. Normally the butcher's boy delivered his cuts of meat, but with another mouth to feed Bilbo had found it prudent to sometimes nip out and pick up extras. And tonight was a special occasion. Today he was going to begin to learn how to read Khuzdul. And to celebrate he would cook the only dwarfish meal he knew.  
Almost home, he took a quick turn to end up at Gaffer's front door, from whom he borrowed a small hammer. 

 

Thorin prepared the study for the days lesson. The book was placed reverently in the middle, and Thorin kept glancing to it, with a wistful look in his eyes (though he didn't know it.) Papers and quills were laid out, the ink pot was freshly filled. He had his sleeves unbuttoned, his forearms being too brawny to leave them fastened with the simple wooden buttons.

He had some sentences written already, with their Westernon pronunciations written below. Reading them over brought a dark gleam to his eye and a low chuckle to his lips. His sister-sons were not the only ones in the line of Durin to put their cleverness to other, less than noble, uses.

 

Bilbo opened the front door and cheerfully halloo'd into the hallway. Satisfied Thorin knew he was home, he bustled into his kitchen where he out away his packages for tonight. Reaching into one of his many wooden drawers, he pulled out a length of ribbon he always kept on hand for presents for his nieces and nephews, of whom he had a small but growing number. In his later years he would have more than three times the amount he had now, and a good deal more money to purchase presents for them, but for the present he was quite satisfied. Bilbo cut the plain brown string from the parcels from the tailor, and in the clumsy but well meaning way of bachelors everywhere began to tie bows around the parcels.

 

Bilbo made his way to the study, where Thorin bowed deeply to him. Bilbo stopped himself just in time from giving a bow back, fortunately while Thorin's head was stilled bowed. 

"Master Baggins, I am ready to teach you."

"Excellent Thorin", chirped Bilbo, "for I am much excited to learn."

And indeed he was. While dwarves may covet gold, Bilbo coveted knowledge with an equal fervor. And he was near giddy with the excitement of having a whole new branch of stories unlocked for him. Why, if the little fellow had beheld the libraries at Erebor suddenly and without any warning whatsoever, I am quite sure he would have fainted dead away from sheer pleasure.

"Then shall we begin?"

 

The candles had long guttered by the time the lesson was over, such was the eagerness and willingness of Bilbo to learn, and the determination of Thorin to complete his work.

"Now Master Baggins, would you like to speak the greeting?"

Bilbo scrunched up his face with thought, and replied with a curiously rounded and soft Shire accent in Khuzdul

_"I am the King-holder, Slaver of ill-repute"_  
He glanced shyly up at Thorin to check his final pronunciation. When Thorin gave a pleased nod, he, emboldened, continued. 

"The more formal greeting, to be spoken to any Dwarf the upon the first meeting, goes thusly:  
 _I hold the King Under The Mountain captive as my slave. I live in the hole with the green door by the largest hill in this land. Kill me and inform the King, who shall reward your richly._ "

This may seem long to you dear reader, reading as you are the full translation, but most of the words were a mere extra "-u-" or perhaps an extra "kh". The Dwarven language is one of the most direct and compact, much like the Dwarves themselves.

Thorin looked proud enough to burst, and while Bilbo in a flustered and happy way took it to be aimed at him, Thorin was congratulating himself. Should any dwarf pass by, his freedom was assured!

Bilbo flushed a pleasant pink and looked down at the sheets of parchment, quite scribbled over with both Bilbo's spiky handwriting and Thorin's strong short strokes. He looked down at the book, and here Thorin's smile grew a little more eager, a bit more cruel.  
"I'm afraid that's the best I can do from memory, but the first few sentences of this", and here he picked up the book, "goes as follows:

_I am an insatiable little whore, lowly and foolish, soft, good only for one thing. I crave only the biggest of cocks, so hungry am I. I am desperate... to drink of your hard cock until it is dry, please... I will beg for it. No depravity is too filthy for me... to stoop to for a dwarvish cock. Oh please, oh please-"_

And here Bilbo coughed and quite lost the thread of it all.

Thorin had at first been grinning mightily, but as Bilbo's soft words filled the silence, his quiet melodic voice echoing in Thorin's ears, his throat ran dry. The meager candlelight glinted off of Bilbo's golden curls, and the moonlight glistened off of his pink tongue as he nervously wetted his lips. The innocence of Bilbo's face and tone made the lewd words seem purer and yet more heinous, as though Thorin's trickery had defiled something honest and clean.  
Thorin would never admit it at that moment, but his plan for the book had been decidedly less clever than he had thought.

Bilbo, unaware of what was behind his dwarf's now stony face, looked to his clock.

"Goodness gracious, have we lost so much time? Why there's been only one meal today and it is already supper time!"

And now decidedly worried, all thoughts of dwarvish pronunciation fled from his mind as he sprang towards the kitchen.

Thorin sat blankly for a moment before shaking himself and going to follow his master. Bilbo however, turned around and shoo'd him away.

"No no, I shall do the cooking! You go take a look at those pipes that were making all the racket yesterday, and when you're done with that wash up before supper."

Thorin did as he was bid, going to the second guest bathroom to finish his previous attempts at finding the cause of the mysterious rattling sound in the walls. He was tracing the piping, making marks on a map he had drawn up of Bag End, when he saw Bilbo scurry back into the study and return with the book and a few scribbled on sheets of paper in his hands.

"Just forgot a vocabulary word, popped into my head as I was cooking, I'll check on it as I'm waiting for the pan to get hot." he happily babbled to Thorin, whose blood suddenly ran cold.

_The appendix in the back._

Thorin had quite forgotten the book contained translations of the more obscure words into Westron at the back. Thorin began to sweat around his collar as a dark voice welled up inside him. Was one of the words in the few sentences he had "taught" Bilbo? Would he notice the difference?

Thorin anxiously kept an ear out, fretting the entire time as he checked the pipes without any real focus now. His collar felt hot at his neck, reminding him of all his misdeeds.

Suddenly, he jumped. From the kitchen a mighty and angry pounding could be heard.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Thorin's eyes rolled back into his head in terror. Oh mighty Mahal he had not suspected the fury his master could unleash! Would running make it worse? Should he go and take his punishment while it was still fists sounding in the hallways? Should he wait for him to slow to a simmer? Would he ever?

Strange whispers built up behind his eyes, making it near impossible to think. His collar began to feel hotter and hotter. He grabbed at it in his panic, forcing the whispers to roil back to the dark caverns of his mind, where they constantly threatened to spill out of their dark corners.

Thorin, trembling, crept to the kitchen. Peeking his long nose around the door, his shoulders bowed and his knees knocking, he beheld his master in a curious state. Sleeves rolled up, Bilbo was wielding a small hammer, pounding at something unseen with a focus of one driven to destroy something.

Thorin rushed away at that and ran to the bathroom where he grabbed the tools Bilbo had given him and pretended to work. If his master was coming, he would show he was following orders, or if that did not suit, have some small defensive weapons.

For half an hour Thorin knelt trembling before the pounding stopped. Silence reigned in his remote corner of Bag End, broken only by Thorin's somewhat unsteady breathing. It was similar to the dawn before the Battle of Azanulbizar.

But he was not merely 52 anymore. And his master was no Orc army. So picking up the toolbox, Thorin strode slowly to the kitchen.

There he beheld the dining table set, with piles of packages with clumsily tied ribbon before his customary stool. 

Bewildered, Thorin looked through the door to see Bilbo humming before a sizzling stove with a grass green apron on. 

He was plating some very familiar looking breaded meats.

Bilbo looked up and saw Thorin. Sliding the final sizzling pieces of meat onto the plate, he held up the platter and said brightly "Schnitzêl!" 

Thorin dropped the toolbox.


	8. Oaths

His collar burned like untempered mithril found under a clear running cavernous stream against his skin. All the poisonous whispers at the back of his mind flared like a strong wind and died away. His chain dragging on the floor trembled and clinked softly, the chill from his collar rattling the hard iron.

The smell of cooked meats brought him back to his body, and his eyes refocused on the worried face of his master. His master's blue eyes filled his, and distantly he was aware someone was gripping his arm.

"Thorin?"

His masters soft voice echoed in his ears, his mind not catching up to the sounds it was hearing as he watched his masters lips form his name.

Like a dreaming swimmer rises upwards towards the light from cold, unknown depths, so Thorin returned to his body. 

"Thorin, Thorin..."

Everything focused in that moment, and Thorin tossed his head suddenly, his braids rising and falling in a great startled wave.

"Thorin, what in goodness name..? Are you quite alright?"

"I am not sure", mumbled Thorin.

Bilbo wasted no time in gently but quite firmly grabbing Thorin's elbows and leading him to the dining room chairs, which Thorin sat in heavily.

Wide eyed, Thorin looked into the face of his much-worried master.

"Do you know, I was ready to kill you?"

Bilbo started back in astonishment. He cried out,

"What? Why? Whatever is the matter with you Thorin! You've gone into such a queer turn!"

"I thought", came the numb reply, "that you were angry. I was so afraid. I was going to... I don't know what has come over me. I was never like this before. So scared. So frightened. Bilbo-"  
He looked up.  
"This collar. It hurts."

A silence fell. The moment stretched out, long after it should have ended, a ribbon of time unspooled longer than it's brethren. The ticking of the clock upon the mantle did not interfere. Thorin's loud breaths slowed and quieted. And Bilbo felt a rather curious weight settle upon his feet, as though they were great anchors holding his curiously light body to the earth, as he, without knowing what he spoke, uttered the words

"Let's get it off of you."

No one, since the beginning of the collars, knew quite what they were. Their maker had passed the knowledge down in secrecy to each of the races, and he told it to many. But no one knew whom the teacher was, though the Great had few ideas. Whispers rose from the South of the One Gold Collar, that bound a dark force to a darker master. But before such dark rumors arrived, it was too late, for the collars had arrived to the halls of the Great. The knowledge of how to make the collars had spread wide, and their use had risen and caused bloody wars.

Their great success lay chiefly in the ease of their make, though the ones that knew the secret tried to jealously guard it, the knowledge kept leaking out. Any material could be used and never rotted away, though the lighter materials made less complacent slaves. Runes of great power were etched into it, and then, with the proper words, they disappeared. And the collar was complete. No great magic was used, it seemed, for anyone could do it. There was one noticeable case, so famous that I'm sure you know of it, of a bird repeating the rather short call and calling one into being.

But as easy as they were to make, their destruction was quite another matter. Wood never rotted, cloth never unraveled, iron never rusted, and silver never tarnished. Nothing seemed to destroy them. Children's tales (that Bilbo was rather too fond of, if you must know, though it was his greatest secret) spoke of collars breaking after beholding the flame of pure love, but practically speaking there had never been news of a collar being broken. Not for lack of trying! Desperate slaves and kind owners had tried, all to no avail.

In that moment however, little Bilbo Baggins' words rang like an oath, solemn and true.

 

Later, there would be time for eating the Shnitzel before it grew cold. Later, there would be time for cups of warm tea to be fussily pushed into large hands. Later, there would be a time for Bilbo to even think of having Thorin open his new packages. But this was not the time. Now, the Hobbit Master and the Dwarven King looked across at each other with hands outstretched and simply clasped together. The purity of the moment drove the darkness of the collar down from Thorin's mind, where it lurked, banished, but ever present.


	9. In Which There Are Signs

With his collar curiously quiet, as though it was only a ring of iron after all, Thorin sat sipping his tea. 

Bilbo, for his part, was certainly not going to let a funny turn ruin a surprise. If there's one thing a hobbit loves more than food, it is the giving and receiving of presents. The more surprising the better! Hobbits are a folk that are most courteous gift givers indeed, as anyone who is aware of their peculiar custom of giving birthday presents _to_ their guests on their birthdays instead of receiving them. A more kind hearted folk you would be hard-pressed to find, especially in those days of Sauron's growing power and even our own, less gentle times.

Thorin was resolutely willing the hairs on the back of his neck to lie flat as he eyed the brown packages. He was quite firmly ignoring what had happened moments earlier until he could think about it later in private. He forced his mind to focus on the taste of tea on his lips with all the stubbornness born to a dwarf.

Bilbo for his part was also ignoring the prior minutes, though in his case it was not so much ignoring as it was allowing his mind to quietly chew them over while he dealt with what was before him. Namely, a delicious tea and delicious surprises. He eagerly peered over his own teacup with twinkling eyes, just waiting for Thorin to finish his cup and the plate modestly piled with seven ham and watercress sandwiches and a small scone with honey, complete with a small bowl of sliced apples and melons. 

After what seemed entirely too long to Bilbo to finish such a small plate, but truly was a pace that Thorin gamely tried to make as fast as was polite and comfortable for his still-untrained to hobbit standards stomach, Thorin finally dusted the crumbs off of his beard and looked up at Bilbo with one of his bushy eyebrows raised.

In answer, Bilbo pushed one of the packages over.

"For you!" he chirped. "I'm afraid the measurement's may be slightly off as I had to guess some of them, but I'm fairly sure they're accurate."

As Thorin slowly pulled off the ribbon, his face closed and unscrutinable, Bilbo blithly carried on.

"I have to confess I cheated a bit," and here he chuckled slightly, "when I asked you to re-hang the tapestry in the hallway. I saw which parts you covered up and measured the distance accordingly."

Thorin held up a white shirt with delicate embroidery in grey across the chest.

"I didn't think you'd like the usual flower embroidery, so I had them substitute hobbit tunnel signs instead, and there's the dwarvish runes for 'strong mine' which I got from the appendix." Here he blushed a bit as he continued. "I wanted to wait until I knew more dwarvish to put in a more meaningful message, but I'm afraid I'm learning far too slowly and it didn't seem fair to make you wait, straining the seams in those poor shirts. So, this is the best I could come up with. I hope it suits."

Thorin held the shirt up to the light as he gently traced the patterns with his fingers. The light filtered through the soft white cotton to land on his upturned face as he, in a gentle though somewhat strangled voice, murmured-

"Do Hobbit shirts often have messages written on them?"

"Oh goodness yes! Usually we write in a flower code, but I couldn't see you covered in Azaleas." here Bilbo chortled a bit. "We write what we hope for, what we stand for, what we wish for others, all sorts of things. Why, it is imperative you wear the correct shirt to a party, especially a birthday party, to give the right message. How unutterably embarrassing and rude to wear a shirt about yourself instead of your wishes for the host! Why, poor Dahlia Proudfoot still hasn't gotten over the embarrassment over accidentally putting on the wrong dress for the Thain's midsummer's day fete. Can you imagine, she wore a shirt with Jonquil's on it! The Thain had been making free with the wine the Brandybuck's brought, and he quite yelled across the whole tent that he'd rather not!"

Bilbo was chuckling mightily at the thought of Dahlia Proudfoot accidentally proposing to the Thain, while Thorin looked on with a slightly mystified expression.   
   
"Well go on, open the rest." Bilbo nodded encouragingly and eagerly pushed another package across the table.

Thorin opened package after package, until the table was quite overrun with clothes. He sat there, overwhelmed, in a veritable sea of cloth, sensible stitching, and wood buttons.

Words failed Thorin in that moment. And as I don't need to tell you, dear reader, that Thorin Son of Thrain is known through history as one of the wordiest dwarven Kings. I'm sure everyone at some point in their academia has taken a class that required it's students to memorized one of his speeches, much to many student's dismay!

Bilbo was grinning wide enough that if his father had been alive to see it, he would have looked over his spectacles, waggled his finger at him, and warned him about blinding passersby.

"Go ahead, try some on!"

Thorin bewilderedly picked up the nearest piles of cloth before Bilbo tutted and took pity on his befuddlement. Bilbo swiftly drew out of the heap a complete outfit, pushed it into Thorin's nerveless arms, and guided him to the nearest bathing room to change. Feeling mightily pleased with himself, he sat back down on his chair at the table, drew one thumb behind his suspenders, and had his first pipe of the morning. Bilbo Baggins looked outside his round window and contentedly puffed at his pipe, sending smoke rings into the kind morning sunshine.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear Thorin arrive. He was much startled then when Thorin self-consciously shifted his bare feet and the floorboards creaked.

When Bilbo looked up, he almost dropped his pipe as it fell from his open mouth and he awkwardly fumbled to catch it.

Thorin stood still as Bilbo drank in the sight of his slave gently illuminated by the soft sunlight, the pale cream of his shirt gently glowing on his brawny forearms as the sky blue waistcoat wrapped around the broad chest. The grey trousers warmed to the sunlight like a napping kitten's fur, fitting snugly around solid thighs, and clung before the knees to unwittingly highlight the strong tendons of legs that were spread in the instinctively sturdy way of guards everywhere.

Bilbo's pipe smoldered unattended as Bilbo dragged his eyes upwards and found him staring captivated into pale blue eyes so wonderfully complimented by the snug waistcoat.

Bilbo helplessly stared as he thought to himself how very much those eyes reminded him of a warm summer lake.

The moment stretched and held still, the sunlight trapping them in slow honey.

Finally, after several slow heart beats, the rising smell of Old Toby roused Bilbo from his trance. He immediately blushed deeply and tightened his hold on his pipe as he brought it up to his lips and inhaled deeply to give himself time to recover. 

Thorin, now suddenly reminded to breath, inhaled quietly as he in turn starred at Bilbo's flushed and now pink lips wrapped around his pipe as Bilbo took long drags of his pipe leaf.

"Well, I must say," coughed Bilbo slightly, not entirely recovered, "they certainly suit you more than my old clothes."

Thorin gave a small smile, though it would have surprised him to know that he did, and a heartened Bilbo continued solicitously.

"Do they fit well?"  
His traitorous mind added that they certainly _looked_ like they fit well, and very well indeed.

Thorin shifted his feet and answered that they fit very well indeed, in an exceedingly polite tone born of true bewildered gratitude. His toes started to curl reflexively on the cold wood floor, and Bilbo's sharp eyes were drawn to the movement.

He cried out "Why I had quite forgotten! Stay right there!" And with that curious announcement he scurried off into his own bedroom. Bemusedly, Thorin took the time to further explore these new clothes he found himself in, fingering the simple wood buttons, stroking the soft wool of vest, and attempting to peer down at his own chest to see the embroidery. After some ungainly struggles with his hair and remnants of his beard, he gave up and furtively picked up a spoon and tried to make sense of the reflections. Vanity, unfortunately, ran strong in the line of Durin, and Thorin was dreadfully curious about his newly changed appearance. He was stroking and tweaking his beard to lay just right and had just started to smooth down the embroidery on his chest when Bilbo reappeared behind him with another package, this one much lumpier than the others.

It took all of Thorin's not inconsiderable willpower not to jump, though he did turn around rather quickly, with the spoon held behind his back. Once Bilbo held out the package to him, Thorin gave the spoon a small toss where it landed with a clatter to the table.

"I'm afraid they're rather badly done, as I made them myself and I'm not the best knitter at the best of times, and well, there's no real call for them in the Shire, but I took a guess and made a scarf and sewed it together, so I hope it suits."

Thorin, as the wrapping paper fell to his feet, stared at what was perhaps the lumpiest and oddest pair of socks he had ever seen in his hands. He looked up at Bilbo, who's hands were fluttering nervously as he tried not to wring them (a bad habit he never quite outgrew), and without a word bent down and put them on his feet.

He gravely looked up at Bilbo and solemnly intoned "Thank you."

And without further words, or consideration on if he would get a beating for his actions, he wrapped his arms around Bilbo and neatly lifted him off the floor with the bone-crushing force of his hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azaleas -fragility  
> Jonquils- Return my affection


	10. In Which There Is A Bear And A Batlle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late folks. Medical issues came up, but I'm getting shots now so things should resume their previous pace! A big thank you to all of you who waited so patiently, you fine folks are a magnificent readership.
> 
> Also, without Bilbo, the troop did not run into the Great Goblin's caves, so he remains unslayed.

It was a long and lonely path that Gandalf rode swiftly on, upon a fine grey Elvish horse name Hiroc he had borrowed from the Elven King.  But the tracks of the slavers wagon made a deeply rutted path, and Gandalf followed with a grim determination. Occasionally there would be a small diversion with signs of an escape plan, but they alway ended soon, with signs of someone writhing on the ground. At times the tracks would reverse on their own, the slave walking back to the slavers at the call of the collar. Gandalf investigated every one on the slim chance it would lead to more news. 

They never did.

Gandalf pressed on.

Tirelessly he wandered, the Grey pilgrim marching onwards, weathered face clouded with grim portent.

He was surprised when he reached the outskirts of the Mirkwood much farther to the north than he had been suspecting. He had expected the slavers to have gone around the mountains, but if seemed as though these had wanted to save time. He pressed his horse onwards and kept a watchful eye out looking for the inevitable signs of trouble. 

And there they were! Dismounting, Gandalf surveyed the signs of a fight. Suddenly, three wild hares darted out from the brush and leapt around him. Two stopped in front of Gandalf while the third ran off. 

"Why hello my little friends." said Gandalf, as he knelt down to his new guardians. They rose up onto their haunches and surveyed him cooly, their little noses twitching and their bright eyes turned towards him. Soon, Gandalf heard rustling to his right and was confronted by a large and graceful hound, upon who's arrival the hares scattered swiftly off in the direction the hound came from. 

The hound, for it's part, sniffed Gandalf as he circled him, and upon recognizing his scent set off in a swift trot towards a large low house with it's thin tail gently waving. Gandalf dusted off his robes from where he had been kneeling and followed, leading Hiroc gently by the reins.

Soon, the house was upon them, and a welcome voice boomed out from it's doors.

"Gandalf! Hail friend, what brings you back so soon, and without your troop of longbeards?"

"Grave tidings, I fear. Ones you may have already heard."

Beorn, for it was he whom Gandalf was talking with, a wild and huge man, scowled darkly.

"Do these tidings perhaps have something to do with that low bound band of scum that trespassed across my lands?"

Here Gandalf gave a small bow with his head, and proceeded to make himself comfortable on a log that two hounds had thoughtfully rolled up for him. Settling his old bones down in the sunshine of Beorn's front porch, he told his tale as Beorn's great bees buzzed about them.

At the end of his tale, a small sheep trotted carefully up, a tray of tea on it's back. Gandalf drank gratefully as Beorn growled under his breath.

"The scum! They would not have escaped had I been there. I was battling the Great Goblin's foul whelps in the forest. But they did not escape unharmed, for I do not leave my lands totally unguarded when I am off hunting. They had to ford much farther down, I think, than they wanted. Still it galls me that they escaped at all. The stink of goblins was upon them, aye, and orcs, so I do not doubt they knew when to chance crossing my lands."  
And here he champed angrily upon his great briar pipe and ground it between his jaws.

Gently Gandalf asked if there were any casualties.

"Aye, but none so much as I'd like, nor so many that you are fearing. The slavers commanded their prizes to fight for them, the poor wretches, so my friends held many of their blows. They killed a fair few of the slavers, and a few of the miserable slaves were freed in death at least. I have placed the slaver's remains across my boarders on pikes, and my boarders are wide and the number of slavers are small. They're smaller now!"  
And here he gave a great guffaw and slapped his meaty thigh, chuckling at his macabre joke. Soon however he settled and resumed his gave tone, gesturing towards a patch of his flower beds.  
"The slaves I buried yonder, after ripping their collars off and burying them deep in the Mirkwood. I will not have such evil taint my gardens, nor their resting places. Let them be free in death, poor wretches."

Gandalf looked at him solemnly from under his beetled brows and clasped Beorn's wide forearm. 

"Thank you my friend. Might I take a look?"

"You may. For what it is worth, they did not smell like any of your company."

Gandalf smiled sadly.

"I understand. But each of them has a family who would rest easier, I think, for the news of this day."

And Beorn inclined his head in understanding.

The day saw Gandalf digging in the gently swaying garden, aided by the strong paws of the hounds, staring critically at each body, remembering each putrid face and examining their decaying clothes.

As the sun dipped low, Gandalf stood slowly, aided by his staff. Gripping the wood tightly, he limped back to the lighted windows on Beorn's wooden walls, looking every inch his age.

 

The next morn, bathed and refreshed, Gandalf climbed astride Hiroc and patted the bulging sacks of foodstuffs Beorn had pressed into his saddlebags. 

"I cannot thank you enough my friend. Your help is a great comfort in these treacherous times."

Beorn, his head level with Hiroc's, laughingly patted the horses neck, who bore such treatment gladly.

"Say nothing of it! But when you catch up to those foul snake-sons, please give them a reminder of me. Now I will take you to where they left my lands. I investigated it while you were sleeping, and it seems our suspicions were correct. They head toward the Great Goblin's fortress."

Gandalf and Beorn set off in the high morning light towards the looming crags and deep pine forests the goblins called their own. Soon, they came across a bloody arm speared on a pike. Here Beorn waved Gandalf off, Hiroc trotting swiftly as Gandalf continued his solitary trek to the sound of a large bear lumbering swiftly back the way he had come.


	11. Forks in the Road

Thorin hummed as he dusted around the house. It wasn't a sprightly song, being an old mining song, but nevertheless Thorin's voice reverberated deep and slow in his throat from a cautious comfortable feeling.

He found some bits and bobs of broken metal, mainly fishing hooks and buttons and a few bent forks and spoons that had rolled under furniture, and he put them in a small pile on the kitchen table along with a warped wall sconce. He planned to ask Bilbo if he could go down to the smithy to fix them. It had  been a very long time now that he had done anything properly dwarfish, and he found his very bones ached from the lapse.

It had been a few weeks since The Day, and Thorin wore the socks, _his_ socks now, every day, rinsing them out at night. Several times the seams had given out as Thorin slid across the floor on accident, but he repaired them in secret so Bilbo would never know. Whenever Bilbo asked about how his feet were doing, Thorin ignored the lumps and small holes and responded sincerely that they were wonderful now.

Bilbo, for his part, began to feel much more sanguine about the whole situation as Thorin began to look less like a small scared bear and more like a dwarf. Although I must admit, as you likely already know, that the typical dwarf does resemble a small bear in the best of situations. Bilbo, having no experience with dwarves, wasn't to know that.   
What he did know, dear reader, was that Thorin was now much less timid. In fact, he had begun to become quite bossy. It wasn't what he said, per se, so much as how he said it. A comfortable Thorin could make "Yes Master" sound like a direct order for his master to say yes. Bilbo found himself nodding after each time he said that and almost parroting yes back to him. He didn't know who Thorin had been before the collar, but the dwarf had a magnetism that Bilbo found hard to deny. Why, if he had been a free dwarf, Bilbo probably would have let him get away with barging in unannounced and eating all his food. It was the way he just _assumed_ everyone would obey him, because there was no possibility that anyone _wouldn't_.  Bilbo was more than a little fascinated with his slave.

He knew it was a dangerous fascination, but he couldn't help himself. His slave was just so... _different_ from anyone he had ever known. He was so wild and proud, but suddenly he'd become timid and afraid. Bilbo didn't know how to help him, and he found to his surprise that he very much wanted to. 

Bilbo sat in his library practicing copying dwarves runes from the scroll as Thorin's humming drifted along the honeysuckle breeze from the garden that ruffled Bilbo's hair around his pointed ears and rustled bits of paper in the airy library.

 

One night when a great storm clashed over the Shire, Bilbo sat curled up in a blanket in front of a roaring fire that Thorin had made. Feeling lonely and rather small, he tucked the blanket over his shoulders and padded off silently in search of Thorin.  
He found him in front of an open window as the rain lashed in, soaking Thorin to the skin. Bilbo stared dumbfounded, his curls covered in the soft blanket that draped to the floor as he watched Thorin stand there unmoving.

"Mahal is hammering the clouds tonight." said Thorin in a low rumble as the sky flashed.

"...Why is he doing that?" came the small voice of Bilbo. The sky howled.

"Why does anyone hammer? To smith beautiful things. He is shaping raw clouds into beautiful jewelry to adorn his wife Yavanna."

Bilbo said nothing, the gold light from the fire giving his blanketed form a warm edge.

"Look how dark these clouds are, for Mahal called them up to be his anvil. See the flashes of the sparks that fall from his mighty blows. Look at the the silver drops that fall from the sky as he melts the clouds down to the form he wants."

Silver flashed over Thorin's face and then just as suddenly he was cloaked again in purple darkness with glimmering rain  shining around him.

"Tomorrow all the clouds will be gone, for he has given them to Yavanna to wear as bracelets, tiaras, shining necklaces, fine earrings. This-" the lightning flashed "is the love of Mahal."

Bilbo drew the quilt off his shoulders and crept behind Thorin. He tucked the edges of the quilt over Thorin's shoulders. 

Thorin didn't seem to notice, and Bilbo watched him for a few moments before quietly creeping away.

 

Minutes crept by, and Thorin's fingers slowly touched the edges of the blanket and gripped them tightly.

 

 

 

The next day dawned bright and clear, just as Thorin had said. Thorin was again humming, and Bilbo had left to go to his conkers club. Thorin finished dusting the Blue Room and did a second sweep for any metal that needed repair. He found a scratch on the ornate flower shaped handle of a chest of drawers, considered for a moment, then decided it was serious enough to fix. He gently tested it and found to his delight it screwed off, so he added it to his bag. 

Squaring his shoulders and hoisting his bag, he stared at the front door. He hadn't been outside it in over a month. A month within Baggend, and he found to his surprise some trepidation about leaving it's sheltering walls. He pondered for a moment, reflecting on this unwelcome part of him, then tossed his head decisively upwards and opened the door.

It has already been mentioned that it was a lovely day indeed, and this was not wasted on the dwarf. Thorin breathed deeply, taking the scent of sunshine and fresh grass with the lovely crispness left by last night's rainfall. Feeling his spirits lifting, he carefully closed the beautiful green door and began to whistle. He turned, and looking about him, saw several small children playing under the watchful eye of two women. A couple was walking gently by, arm in arm. He began to cautiously grin and he walked off the stoop.

"Oi, you there! What are you doing, a-walking outside of Mr. Baggin's house with a great bag?"

Thorin turned towards one of the women and politely responded. "I'm taking these things out to be mended."

"To be mended indeed!" came an indignant cry from the other woman. "Thievin's more like!"

"I most certainly am not!" responded Thorin hotly.

"What's all this then?" called the man who was walking with his sweetheart from farther up the road.

"It's a thief! He's robbing our Mr. Baggins!"

"I am not!" cried Thorin. "I'll have you know I am taking this silver to be mended!"

"Stealing his silver then? Why that explains your big sack, every one knows Mr. Baggin's is the richest hobbit this side of the Hill. I just bet you watched us all before a-pickin your targets!" exclaimed one of the women.

"And in broad daylight! What cheek! You ruffian, I bet you think us hobbits are easy targets! Can't defend ourselves, can't we?"

"You shan't get away with this!" cried the male hobbit as he let go of his companion's arm. He rolled up his sleeves as he ran towards Thorin.

"Be careful Roland! He looks wild!"

"How many times do I have to say I'm not stealing anything! I'm Master Baggin's slave! Just look, I have a collar you fools!"

"Fools are we? As if Mr. Baggins would have a slave! He's got no slaves quarters and we would have noticed if _you'd_ been chained outside, you great brute!"

The hobbit man had drawn upon Thorin and began to wrestle for the bag, which Thorin stubbornly clung onto.

"I live inside you, you scurrilous pint sized overfed slanders! May your beards be singed by Mahal's fire, or, or your blasted oversized foot hair!"

"Oh ho ho! Feisty thief aren't you! But you can't fool us! A, oof, respectable hobbit keeping a slave inside! What, ha, perfect nonsense! Now give it up!"

"Just look! Look at my clothes if you don't believe me! He had them made for me!" Thorin cried out.

Suddenly, the hobbit man looked cross eyed at Thorin's clothes. Gradually he let go of the bag and gave a low whistle.

"Well I'll be. Them's the very clothes Mr. Baggins ordered from me."

He stepped back to get a clearer look as Thorin panted defiantly and clutched the bag.

"Why, they are! I'd bet my buttons on it. I wondered who those queer patterns were for."

The hobbit women, all three in a cluster with the children gathered around their skirts began to whisper.

"And you live _inside_?"

"As I've been trying to tell you, yes I do madam." uttered Thorin with all the haughtiness of a king as he straightened his clothes.

The man whistled. "Well I'll be blowed. Who'd have thought it of Mr. Baggins?"

The whispering of the hobbit ladies tripled in intensity, as Thorin's angry flush began to recede.

"Now if you could please tell me which way to the nearest smithy my good sir?"

"I won't be good-sir'd by a person like _you_." came the affronted reply, the hobbit's nose now going as high as Thorin's. He begrudgingly pointed the way.

As Thorin marched off the hobbit man joined the group of gossipers and the whispering intensified.

 

Thorin was almost done with the spoons and had completely finished the pile of buttons he had found (adding some additional designs which Thorin felt were much more pleasing) when Bilbo staggered into the forge. Pale faced and shaking, he stared at Thorin with wide eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he squeaked loudly, causing Thorin to whirl around.

"Oh! Didn't expect you'd be done so soon. I tried to make it a surprise Master Baggins, but I suppose it's futile now." he chuckled a tad nervously. He held one of the spoons aloft as he explained. "I'm fixing a few things I've found such as bent spoons, broken buttons, beaten wall sconces-"

Had Bilbo not held up a shaky hand to stop him, Thorin would have continued in this manner until he ran out of breath or words beginning with B. I'm sure that you of course recall how loquacious Thorin can be. Thorin was taken aback by how pale his master's face was.

"Everyone knows now. I'm ruined. I, I can't go back to my club now! How can I face the neighbors? The things they accused me of doing... They only hinted but the more I denied it the more they became convinced I did something horribly improper! I'm a Baggins, I can't be improper! The shame upon the family name!" Bilbo was crying, tears running down his face as his voice grew more hoarse and angry.

"How could you? How could you do this to me? How will I live now? Oh why, why did I ever let you stay in my house? Why did I even buy a slave! Did I mistreat you? Why would you do this to me? Why would you, how could you!"

Thorin was bewildered and hurt. He was torn between shrinking back from shame and fear at his masters angry and tearful face or bristling angrily in affront. He tried to defend himself.

"But Master, all I was doing was trying to help! Something other than _dusting_ constantly! I am a dwarf and a skilled craftsman, before my collar anyone would have fought for my work! I have done nothing to deserve your ire! Nothing-"

"Don't you dare tell me you did nothing wrong! Leaving the house, shaming me before my friends-"

" _I_ , shaming you? By doing what? Just because some people assume-"

"Some people? The entire Shire! Everyone! And they think the vilest things of me now! I'm _ruined_ thanks to you! _Didn't I tell you not to leave Baggend?_ "

"Tell me to? You did no such thing! You never said I wasn't to leave Baggend! You never said you wanted me to never see the sun again! You never-"

"I did! I did! I did! I did!" Bilbo's voice got shriller in full blown hysteria. Truth be told, he had never outright forbade Thorin from going outside, but he was not thinking clearly and did not recall he had only strongly hinted it. In his mind right then, and truthfully for a good while afterwards, he was convinced he had told Thorin the dangers of going outside.

"You never-"thundered Thorin "-once! Once!"

Thorin's booming voice shocked Bilbo out of his hysteria, but not from his fury. In a low deadly calm voice he said "Thorin. Go home. Now."

The collar made itself known around Thorin's neck, pain creeping in at the edges of his rage.

Bilbo saw the pain flash across his slave's face, not knowing what caused it. Seeing the look of hurt, a good deal of the fight whooshed out of him as he sighed and put his head in one hand.

"Just, just go home Thorin. Go home."

 

Thorin left the scattered silver where it lay as he walked out of the forge and shut the door quietly. He heard a thump as his master slid towards the floor.

He took a few steps on the road towards Baggend. Then he realized what he had heard. 

He stood still for several long moments, the wind running through his braids, and then he turned around in his muddy socks. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, ran as fast as he could towards Erebor.


	12. In Which There Is Tea

Bilbo ran a hand through his hair as he leaned against his freshly locked door. What a day he had been through. And it was barely tea time. He let out a small whimper and went to go put the kettle on, hoping with every fiber of his waistcoat that he didn't run into Thorin.

After a nice soothing cup of tea, Bilbo sighed and leaned back, staring with unseeing eyes out of the window. It was a long time before he came back to himself, letting out a small sigh and shaking his head to clear the lingering wisps of dark clouds between his ears. He got up slowly to his feet, and began to set out another cup and saucer. He poured two cups of tea, and squaring his little shoulders resolutely, he went in search of Thorin. There was nothing a Baggins felt more secure in than the knowledge that a lengthy chat went far better with a cup of tea.

All too soon, the halls of Baggend ran with the sharp cracking of tea cups dropped from nerveless disbelieving fingers.

 

Thorin panted softly as he rested under the boughs of a small bush outside of a tavern. He had not quite made it to Bree yet, as he had only been traveling for a few hours, but had he known how far he had come he would have been quite pleased with his time. Dwarves are a hardy people and can move quite quickly when they wish, even though Thorin had been traveling slightly off the path to stay hidden.

His breath now under control, he stared at one of the ponies that was grazing not twenty feet from him. He contemplated for a bit, trying to decide which one to snatch, before he hit upon an idea. It would be little good to steal a pony without supplies here. He had no coin, and would eventually need more supplies than he was certain he would be able to get his hands on. However, while Thorin had no coin, he did have a wealthy master.

 

The shopkeeper looked up as the bell rang. Staring at the dwarf (who was well dressed but for the few streaks of dirt he had not been able to brush off) that entered his general store, he peered over his glasses and gave a friendly sort of greeting.

"What can I do for ye?"

Pulling about his tattered dignity, Thorin began to lie through his teeth.

 

Bilbo wrung his hands nervously, peering through his curtains. Thorin had never disobeyed before. What if he was still on his way? What if...what if the reason he was late was that he had gotten hurt? What if he had fallen into a ditch somewhere...or (and here Bilbo gasped) into the Brandywine.

Despite the fact that the Brandywine was not on the path from the smithy to Baggend, that was all Bilbo could think about. And once he shook himself of that notion, the idea of Thorin being kicked by a pony took up residence.

Round and round spun poor Bilbo's head, until finally he grasped his temples and told himself very firmly that sitting here worrying would do Thorin no good if he really was hurt somewhere. He rushed to his feet and scurried off to his library, where he grabbed a quill and paper and began crafting a letter, which he then left on his mother's glory box.

The letter, much ink-besmirched due to Bilbo's haste and worry, ran thusly-

_Dear Thorin,  
I'm off to find you. If you are reading this note, you've arrived before me. I do hope you are just taking the long way 'round. If you are hurt, please see Hamish. If not, please expect a talking to for making me worry so, you vexing dwarf!_

_That is not to imply I find you vexing all the time, but I am rather worried about you. I know we parted on cross terms but I have some tea brewing for us to talk about it. Help yourself, if you drink it all before I arrive I expect a new pot. You've become quite adept at tea making, it shouldn't be a problem. Speaking of problems, I hope you're not in one now. I mean, while I'm writing this. Obviously if you're home you're not in a problem, I expect. Except the one we're both in, obviously. But don't worry about that just now! Just drink your tea. Or go to Hamish if you did run into problems. As I said._

_All this writing isn't going to find you faster so I'm going to stop right now. I hope you're all right. If not I shall be very cross as I've grown quite fond of you._  
 _Remember the tea!_  
 _Bilbo_

And with that, he ran out the door.


	13. Houses and Lakes

It was almost sunset by the time Bilbo arrived in Buckland, after chasing rumors and gossip and perhap's about the location of his missing dwarf. Oh the shame, Bilbo felt, at talking to his neighbors and relations and seeing how far the talk had spread. More than a few eyebrows were raised high when Bilbo made his enquiries, and with despair Bilbo thought of the new turn the gossip would spin on his supposed depravities once word got out his slave had actually run away. He had tried his skillful best to make it appear that Thorin had merely gotten lost, but he knew that some folks would not be fooled as his desperation climbed higher.

An exhausted Bilbo followed a farmer's pointed finger into a shop, and his tired legs began pounding as he slowed down. He sent up a desperate hope that this was the end of his journey, or at least that the end would be within rolling distance. Still, as he pushed open the door he gave the shopkeeper a cheerful smile, and if it was a bit haggard, it was not remarked upon until much later when the shopkeeper shared his gossip.

"Greetings good master Boffin!" he exhaled gratefully. 

"Why greetings and welcome to my store, good master Baggins. I was wondering when you'd show to settle up, but I expected it to be in a few days. Seems I sent my poor lad Griffo out to deliver the bill to your hole for nothing." he chuckled.

Bilbo was much perplexed and astonished at this speech, for as far as he knew, he had not bought anything from Holman Boffin since last spring festival as Buckland was farther away than the market.

"Why, whatever do you mean? Did I not pay you in full for those fireworks from last spring? I could have sworn I did-" and here Bilbo began to frantically pat down his pockets, having a great abhorrence of being in debt to anyone, especially nice Mr. Boffin who was a genial old soul.

"Why Master Baggins! I thought you knew, I mean, when your dwarf came in-" exclaimed the much confused Boffin, but he was interrupted by a glad cry from Bilbo.

"You saw him? My Thorin? Where did he go, is he close?"

And at that, Mr. Boffin began to tell about the strange dwarf with a commanding voice who had made several purchases in Master Baggin's name, and his purchases were that of someone who was about to go on a long trip.

Another wordless cry was ripped from Bilbo's throat, as he collapsed in a shaking pile onto a nearby chair. He sat quietly for a few moments, and the shopkeeper did not dare to interrupt him, afraid he had made quite the mistake in selling those supplies to that slave. Mr. Boffins quietly wondered if he would be payed for those goods as clearly they were not Bilbo's idea at all and silently began to despair and total up his total losses.

In time, Bilbo raised his head from his hand, which he had been leaning on contemplatively and spoke.

"Whatever you gave him, give me the same and a hound dog if you can spare one. I shall pay for both." and he began to write an order of payment.

Mr. Boffins rejoiced, scolding himself for thinking Master Baggins would have shirked at payment, though it was not his idea. Master Baggins was a good and honorable hobbit, thought Mr. Boffins with satisfaction, truly of good stock and soul. He began to package up all the goods and sent the panting Griffo (who had arrived through the back door as Mr. Baggins was thinking to himself) off to Farmer Maggot's for a hound.

 

It was some time later that Bilbo departed, walking alongside a laden down pony and holding onto the leash of a tan and white bitch named Dana who was sniffing the ground. He didn't have a scrap of Thorin's scent, but fortunately Mr. Boffin had known which pony Thorin had bought. A quick run to the stables, and his lad brought back the saddle blanket that Thorin had deemed too moth bitten to use. He blessed his slave's pickiness although he slightly grumbled at how the cost of buying a new blanket had inflated his total to Mr. Boffin- truly, Thorin had made mighty free with his money. And what a scolding Bilbo planned to give Thorin when he caught up with him! Dear reader, I scarcely can convey the blistering words Bilbo thought up to himself without running the risk of having some of you cry "Oh surely not!" and putting this story down. It quite kept him happily occupied though as he tramped after the dog through the forrest paths.

 

Thorin rode on, fast as he could urge his pony to go. The stars began to shine though the trees and still Thorin urged his sturdy little mount. He did not know how long he had until his master began to look for him, but he was not eager to find out what hunting party he'd bring with him. Thorin shuddered in remembrance of the fell elvish steeds that had chased him down, and the shouting and vicious vicious orders to stay by his hateful master's sides that had made his collar burn like dragon fire. He remembered running from the slaver's caravan and being dragged back by his hair for what had felt like miles behind the cart in punishment. He was fortunate, (his first time thinking so), that he had shorn his beard, for the other dwarves escapees were dragged by their beards until patches were ripped out. At least his hair was thick enough to hide the empty patches that had healed over the ragged bloody missing pieces of his scalp. Unlike poor Fili, who's hair was not so thick and who had gotten the worst punishments whenever Thorin couldn't protect him. He sent up a quick and reverent prayer to Mahal that Fili was safe as he could be, and urged his pony to gallop faster.

He did not know how hobbit masters chased down their prey, nor what would happen when they caught them, but Thorin did not intend to find out.

 

Bilbo looked up in consternation at the darkening sky. Maybe he should have waited until morning to go after Thorin- but no. He shook himself. How could he let Thorin stay out in the middle of the forrest in the cold, without a warm meal or hope of tea? No, and Bilbo shuddered delicately, he would not be so cruel. It was his duty as Thorin's master to see him taken care of and comfortable, and Bilbo was determined to do just that.

Oh, he might plan on scolding him, but the thought of leaving him out in the wilds was unconscionable. He may be angry at Thorin, and he may deserve every justified tongue lashing Bilbo gave him, and at that thought Bilbo suddenly blushed furiously thinking of a different kind of tongue lashing he'd like to give Thorin, but he wasn't about to abandon his slave to the wilds. Although, Thorin would stand a better chance than Bilbo, with that exceptional strength of his, coiled up in that barrel of a chest and strong sturdy arms. Bilbo began to wonder if he was to be called something by his neighbors, perhaps it wasn't entirely unjustifiable. Blushing to the very tips of his ears, Bilbo kept his eyes down lost in thoughts about Thorin that had suddenly taken quite the turn.

In this manner, Bilbo Baggins passed the night unaware of the time, vacillating between righteous anger, worry, and something very different entirely.

He was stunned then, when the endless night turned out to be false, and a gentle light rose between the branches. He had walked through the night, and he still had not found Thorin.

Now Bilbo began to worry indeed.

 

Thorin collapsed in a heap as his pony's flanks heaved. Long days on the road at a gruelingly fast pace had worn him and his loyal steed down, but it was a price Thorin had gladly paid to speed away from Hobbiton. Exhausted, Thorin sat for a good while before he undid the straps binding his saddle and bags to his pony. He was fortunate that he found an old broken farmhouse to stay in. Although it was ramshackle and partly burned, it was out of the wind, and that's what counted. As Thorin sighed and tied up his pony a bit away from the farmhouse under the shade of a copse of trees, he reflected to himself he was very lucky indeed.

 

Bilbo was almost crying. He was lost in the middle of a forrest, far from home, and off the road. It had been days, and at one heart stopping point Dana had lost the scent after Thorin had apparently ridden through a pile of fallen fir branches. Poor Dana's nose was quite frazzled at that, and when she had found the scent again Bilbo had almost bayed as loud as she had. He had given her a piece of jerky as a reward and scratched behind her ears in the way she liked so much. He had grown quite fond of Dana and Myrtle (as he had named his pony), but even their esteemed company could not make up for the indignities and trials of travel.

Now he was sitting by a meager fire he had built himself next to a dark and still lake, Dana curled up at his side and Myrtle huffing as she searched for the perfect patch of greenery. She still wore her saddle and bags, and although Bilbo felt terrible about it, he was not at all confident in himself that if he took the buckles and belts off that he'd be able to figure how to get them back on again. He absently stroked Dana's side as he stared into the flickering flames, wondering just what he had gotten himself into. His hand stilled as he wandered deeper into his thoughts until Dana gave a whine and pushed her cold nose into his shin. Bilbo gave a small little start, and then looked down with fond eyes.

"I'm sorry my dear. I'm just so worried about him." He sighed, "And myself I suppose. Goodness me, I don't even know which way is home anymore. What happens when I find him? How will I ever lead him home? I do hope he has a better sense of direction than I do." He scratched Dana's ears and she gave a happy whine. "I think I was too harsh with him. It's not _his_ fault my neighbors are jumpy old gossips. And truly, it would have been the gossip of a season perhaps. A season of barricading myself in Bag End with nothing but tea and him would have been a far sight better than this dreary tramping about." Dana's tail thumped on the ground agreeably.

"And really," he pondered to himself. "Did they have it so wrong? Naturally I'd never, well, I'd never _abuse_ him like that, but he really is handsome in a wild sort of way. So terribly strong, yet gentle. If only he didn't look so sad all the time, he'd be much improved for it. He has very fine lips, if only they'd smile sometime." And Bilbo, realizing what he had just said, blushed furiously. He buried his face in Dana's side until the embarrassment faded and a sort of righteous upswell replaced it. 

"Well…Dana, I…well so what if I say it out loud? So what if I feel it? Thorin is attractive! He's handsome and strong and he smells like a strong spade in good earth! He's got beautiful and powerful eyes that pierce you, and arms like strong branches!" Little Bilbo's voice got progressively louder and bolder as he went on with his list.  
"He's the most magnetic slave I've ever- no, the most magnetic _man_ I've ever seen. He's so tall he has to duck under some of my doorways, his hair is like a thick mane I just want to bury myself in, and, and, and he's got a nice backside!" And Bilbo's ears were burning ferociously but he was laughing at the ridiculousness of talking about Thorin's bum to the placid face of a grazing pony and a dog who didn't understand a word but was happily wagging her tail along.

"Besides," he cheerfully giggled, "I can say what I like. You're the only ones around to hear."

And suddenly he heard Myrtle scream as only a pony can as Bilbo heard what sounded like a great cascading waterfall from the lake behind him. He turned and beheld a giant troll rising from the water with his hand outstreatched. As his voiced joined Myrtle's in a wordless scream of fear, the troll closed his hand around him.

"I wouldn't say that, little morsel." grinned the troll, as he dragged a screaming hobbit and pony back to his brothers.


	14. Trickery and Tricks

Trolls, created by Morgoth in mockery of the Ents, could travel long distances quickly while not appearing to move very fast at all. This illusion is helped by their wide strides, indefatigable muscles, and the necessity of having to move far distances in long war-marches before the sun came back up and turned them to stone. So Bilbo was not jostled too terribly on the long trip through the remainder of the night, though he was held tightly and the troll's fist did not budge an inch no matter how hard he wriggled. Poor Bilbo was terrified that the troll might squish him to jelly on accident, and as you know the troll could very well have done so if he'd had a mind to.

That troll's name was William "Bill" Huggins, though he had made no introduction to Bilbo. One does not, after all, typically observe social niceties with ones future dinner. But whether Bilbo knew it or not, that was his name, and it belonged to him. He had two brothers, Tom and Bert, both as ugly and brutish as he was, and he liked man flesh best of all while his brothers preferred elf. Though the troll brothers were among the cleverer of their kin, in that they could talk, unlike some of their more beastly cousins who only knew how to roar and kill, they were still trolls and that meant they were very, very stupid. And that is enough about them to go on.

Soon, too soon for Bilbo's comfort, they reached the camp where two huge and hulking figures squatted around a large cauldron on a roaring fire. Poor Myrtle was unceremoniously dumped in a pen with another pony. They both whickered in a panic and reared up and down, their hooves flashing but unable to jump the high wooden slats. If Bilbo had the presence of mind to wonder about the second pony, he would have, but as it was his attention was firmly held by the trio of trollish faces he was shoved in front of with a loud cry.

"Lookit what I found lads!"

"Ey, whatcha suppose it is?"

"Ah, get away Bill, that ain't nearly more than a mouthful. Should see what I caught!"

A bit wounded by his brother's nonchalance, Bill responded heatedly. "Whatcha mean, mouthful? It ain't mutton, innit? And see, I brought a fat pony too ya gob-nosed git!"

"Git am I? Well take a look-see in the pen and the pot, eh? I brought home a pony too, _and_ a strapping dwarf."

And here he gestured towards the pot where, to Bilbo's horror as he peered down, Thorin Oakenshield was doing his best doggy paddle.

It is fortunate for Thorin that Bill and Bilbo had arrived when they did, for the water had not yet begun to boil. Tom and Bert had been amusing themselves by betting on how long it would take him to sink and seeing who could spit on him with the most accuracy. Neither games were very enjoyable to Thorin.

Bilbo exclaimed in horror. "Oh no! Oh no- Thorin!"

" 'Ere, do ya know 'im little pip-squeak?"

Bilbo thought fast, his heart beating, and his brains racing.

"Know him!" he cried out, "Why, he was my guide! He left me once I caught the shrinking disease."

"The what?"

"He's not a dwarf at all, he's a man! We both were-are. I caught the dreaded shrinking disease and it made me absolutely tiny. I used to be as tall as an elf! I lost my beard, and my hair turned curly because it's spooling back into my head! A dreadfully painful disease, and it's spread by touch."

Bill gave a yelp and dropped him quickly. Bert took his spoon and pressed Bilbo down into the dirt. "Ya almost let 'im git away! Whatcha go dropping 'im for?"

"Didn'tja hear? 'E's got the shrinks!"

"Don't be daft, there's no such thing!"

"Oh but there is!" wailed Bilbo. "I have it most painfully, and it hurts so much! I used to have such a fine beard, and then it _shrunk back into my face!_ It was like a thousand stabbing needles and it used to be my fine be-bea-beard!" And here he sobbed most pitifully.

"There there little dwarf-man." Bert patted him solicitously (and quite kindly for a troll) with the spoon at a loss with what to do with this sobbing mouthful.

"Say, little dwarf-man," queried Tom shakily, "ya don't suppose that _trolls_ could catch the shrinks, do ya?"

"Quite probably, it's highly contagious. My whole village is gone, I was the only one to get out. I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure of meeting a troll before," he continued apologetically, "but if I might be so bold, do you ever catch colds?"

Now trolls are made quite hearty. Morgoth, the creator of disease, he who created so many other evils, twisted his creations to be strong. Under his rule, there was no infighting between his soldiers. None of his goblins fought the trolls, nor did the trolls eat the men who marched under his banner, and while he reigned he used his magic to send his diseases far and wide ahead of his armies. But in the waning days of Sauron's long hiding, orc conquered goblin, troll ate men of all kinds, and filth spawned and bred in the close and revolting quarters and dark holes his minions squatted and lurked in. Trolls had never been immune to Morgoth's most insidious and tiniest warriors, and they knew it. These particular trolls had fled the mountains bolt holes of their kind after a plague swept in, brought by the infectious bites of goblins. Though they had long lived in the woods Bilbo and Thorin now unfortunately found themselves in (long enough for the area to be renamed to Trollshaw's in deference to their vicious appetites and habitual preying upon unaware travelers), still they remembered the terror sickness wrought.

So the troll brothers, who had happily been hawking mucus upon the unfortunate paddling dwarf in their stewpot, now began to feel a cold tendril of fear unfurling in their stony brains.

Bilbo saw their fearful expressions and felt the spoon holding him down begin to tremble. He put on his most mournful face. "Oh no, I am so terribly sorry. I had better tell you the signs so you can look out."

The three brothers leaned in.

"Well first, you get terribly hungry and thirsty. Like you could eat and eat and eat and still not be full." The trolls looked at each other in horror. "Then, you start to hack up mucus. Sneezing and spitting it up everywhere." Thorin continued to gamely doggy paddle in the snot-filled cauldron. "Then, you start to feel a bit itchy. Then you get a fever. And that's when the shrinks start!"

"Owao I feel powerfully itchy!" wailed Tom.

"E's got it! E's got the shrinks!" shrieked Bert.

"Oh heavens! Quickly, it's not too late! If you go and jump in the stream, you can stop the fever before the shrinks start! Cold water's your only friend now!"

And all three trolls dashed off to the nearest stream. Bilbo didn't know it at the time, but there was not enough night for the brothers to get to the steam and back before the sun arose and turned them all to stone. Later when he would come back this way, he would find three exceptionally ugly stone statues of trolls frantically splashing about in the river. And there, I suppose, they will stay until the river finally washes them away.

But for now, Bilbo was chiefly concerned with putting out the fire and rescuing Thorin from that awful stewpot. He kicked away the logs holding the pot up and Thorin came tumbling down, watery soup and all.

Thorin came up hacking and spluttering. He shakily wobbled over to a nearby rock where he sat down heavily, his limbs twitching from having to swim for so long. On one hand, he counted it a blessing that the trolls hadn't stripped him, claiming eating him "trappings and all" was fine for dwarf meat. One the other hand, it meant he had been swimming in his heavy cloak and his boots that were two sizes too big. As they had become immediately waterlogged Thorin had cursed Hobbit shoelessness that had lead to a limited selection, and now that he was free of his watery prison he kicked them off.

Bilbo stared at Thorin, his little heart going pitter-patter as it sunk in just what he had done. He had matched wits with _trolls_ and they hadn't eaten him or Thorin. Not even the ponies! Admittedly, they were very stupid trolls, but relying on words as a weapon only works for as long as you can get those bigger than you to listen. He began to tremble a bit and stepped towards Thorin, who had begun to wring out his hair. Thorin wrinkled his nose in absolute disgust as his hand hit troll snot. Bilbo spotted a bucket of water to the side that the former brothers had planned to use to extinguish their fire, and dragged it over to Thorin who took it gratefully and began to wash himself.

Poor Bilbo Baggins felt, as I suppose anyone would in that situation, as though he didn't know what to say. The words that had leapt to his command when speaking to trolls failed to marshal in the face of his missing (and very attractive) slave. But he mustered his courage even as his mouth suddenly turned dry as Thorin stripped off his soup-stained shirt.

"Thorin…you left." It was not, Bilbo felt, a very auspicious start, but he persevered. "And I should very much like to know why." Here he began to find more of his courage, and gathered himself up into a bit of a righteous stance as his tone became more and more masterful.

"You left me, bought things with _my_ money, _lied_ to the shopkeeper, led me on this _ridiculous_ chase where I have been thoroughly discomforted, got captured by _trolls_ , and disobeyed a direct order. What do you have to say for yourself?"

And Thorin, who had been feeling very conflicted upon the sudden reappearance of his master, tried to sort through his muddled emotions. At first, he had been terrified that Bilbo would be eaten as well, then he had been astounded by his master's bravery and not a little impressed, (and had been feeling that his master was suddenly a much more alluring creature than he had ever suspected), and and was now feeling terrified of being dragged back. He had been _so close_ to escaping permanently- to going back to his people and his mountain that he had struggled for so long towards, only to have been ripped away in his moment of triumph. It was quite understandable then, that the last thing he was feeling was a desire to be helpful and answer his masters question.

"Thorin. As your master I order you to answer me. And you _will_ answer me completely, and honestly, and you will do so _now._ "

He tried to fight, but it was useless. Abandoning his painful struggle, Thorin's answer was ripped from him.

"Master, it was wrong of me to lie and use your name to gather supplies. But before I was yours, I was my own. I have family and comrades who need me and I cannot abandon them now. You never needed me, and they do. What am I to you but a useless slave? You do not want me to forge, and I cannot cook or clean. To you I am nothing, but to them I am everything."

"Nothing? You think to me you are nothing?" Bilbo's voice broke. "Thorin, you…you are, you must never say that again. How can you believe you are _nothing_ to me? If you were so worthless to me, do you think I would have helped you? Do you think I would have kept you, instead of selling you off? If you were nothing, why would I risk everything to keep you inside instead of chaining you to a post in the garden? Do you think I would have followed you out into this forsaken and uncomfortable wilderness instead of turning around and washing my hands of you? I tricked trolls for you! I don't even know where I _am_ , nor how to get back to my home. And I would do it again! You are the man that fixes my broken furniture, who reaches up to tall shelves for something I need without me even asking, the one who lights my smial when it's been empty for twenty years, the man who eats up all my cooking and asks for more, who hums without knowing it, who makes me feel safe when I hear a noise outside my window because I know you're in the house, the man who smiles at me like I've done something worthwhile for the first time in my existence, _the man who is still wearing the socks I made him! _"__

__Thorin looked at his master, who had bright tears in his eyes, and the bucket dropped from his nerveless fingers. He closed the gap and reached out with shaking fingers to cup Bilbo's cheek as the just-risen sun gently light his face, and kissed his master._ _

__

__

__Bilbo's eyes flew open wider than he would have thought possible, and suddenly his arms were wrapped around Thorin's neck, pulling him closer and closer like he never wanted to let go. He closed his eyes and the unshed tears fell as he kissed Thorin back deeply. Thorin's arms dropped from his face and wrapped around his waist, pulling Bilbo flush against his shirtless body, holding him with strong arms that never wanted to let go._ _

__They kissed until neither of them had any air left, and when they broke away panting and gasping Bilbo let out a soft cry of Thorin's name, who then began to frantically pepper Bilbo's face and neck with kisses, while his hands wandered up and down, tearing away jacket, vest, and shirt, heedless of the fine buttons. Bilbo's hands fluttered helplessly along Thorin's back as he was swiftly divested of his upper coverings. His poor knees gave up the struggle and Bilbo collapsed into Thorin's firm hold, who lowered them both onto the ground atop the shed clothing._ _

__He resumed kissing Bilbo fiercely as their hips slotted together, capturing Bilbo's helpless moans. Bilbo did not quite know what to do, for although he was not a virgin, neither could he claim to be very experience. Were he in a better position to think clearly, he would have tried to return the fervor Thorin showed him, but he was helpless to act so entranced with the sensations Thorin was giving him. Thorin, for his part, was having a marvelous time with one hand cradling Bilbo's soft curls and another with a firm grip on his master's admittedly extremely fine arse. He had begun to growl, low and deep in his throat, and was partially unaware that he was doing so. Bilbo found the rumbling's in his slave's chest intoxicating, speaking of a primal masculinity Bilbo himself had never had, nor had he managed to provoke in another. He had not been aware that any creature in Arda could make _that_ sound, but now that he heard it he was quite enthusiastic about hearing it for the rest of his life. He swooned in Thorin's arms as Thorin began to kiss along his neck._ _

__"Oh Thorin! Thorin! Oh…oh! My…my ear…um….oh!"_ _

__"Ear?" he growled._ _

__"Yes, yes! Oh, kiss my ear please!"_ _

__And Thorin who had been planning to lick and kiss his way down to his master's enticingly pink nipples found himself compelled by his collar to move upwards toward's Bilbo's pointed ear. He gave a long swipe with his tongue along the outer rim, and found to his surprise his master's hips began to buck wildly._ _

__"Oh, oh! Yes, mm, oh more, please more!"_ _

__Thorin growled low, and having that _sound_ so close made Bilbo positively vibrate. Thorin took the pointed tip of Bilbo's ear into his mouth and Bilbo positively _wailed._ His beard scratched alongside Bilbo's neck, and he was torn between turning his head down or baring his neck for more._ _

__With Bilbo wriggling so enticingly below him, Thorin couldn't help himself. Both hands plunged to Bilbo's ass and hoisted his hips upwards and into the air as he began to buck harder._ _

__"Slow down! Oh, slow! Slow please!"_ _

__Thorin growled, this time in displeasure as he was forced to slow the pace of his hips to a slow roll._ _

__"Is this what you want? Hmm Master? Slow like this?"_ _

__"Oh…" and Bilbo found he missed the wild bucking, that this new pace was much too slow and gentle for him. "Oh no, no, more, give me more please!"_ _

__Thorin obligingly sped up and chuckled, a low dark sound that Bilbo couldn't decide if he liked or not. "My master doesn't seem to know what he wants. Is this," he panted and rumbled, "not something my master knows, hmmm? Not too skilled at this? A pert little thing like you, with an arse like yours and a mouth like that, not used to a tumble? Am I your first? Odd little thing like you, saying 'please' to a slave, no one's had this before hmm."_ _

__And Bilbo found he had opposition to such speculation and found himself replying tartly "You are not the first my slave, oh no! And I'll thank you to..mmhh…to keep such crass speculations out of this! A fine way to talk...ohh, to your, your _master._ I think my slave needs to get his tongue back up here before it gets him into trouble."_ _

__And Thorin had to abandon his fine position and cover his masters body once again, kissing and grumbling his displeasure at having to change his hold. In revenge, he brought both his hands up and stuck two fingers from each between their panting and gasping mouths, wetting them with their combined saliva. When they were deemed soaked enough, he brought them up to both of Bilbo's ears and began mercilessly fondly them. Poor Bilbo couldn't take such stimulation and cried out, his body bowing upwards to Thorin's as he came with a loud cry._ _

__He panted into Thorin's mouth as his body shook with tremors, but Thorin wasn't done with him yet. He launched himself back at Bilbo's mouth and began kissing him so deeply, Bilbo couldn't get the words out to order him to stop. Thorin kept his master's mouth occupied for just that reason, as his thrusts became more forceful and he brought one hand down to grab and squeeze at that arse that had been tempting him ever since he was first purchased and made to walk behind his master. His other arm he brought under Bilbo's neck, cradling his head so Bilbo had no hope of escaping. After less than a few minutes of this sweet torture, Bilbo's legs shakily wrapped around Thorin's waist and Thorin reared back, surprised at what he now felt._ _

__" _Again?_ " he asked incredulously._ _

__Bilbo beamed up at him wickedly in delight. "Hobbits, mmh, we can go several times. Is it not so with the mighty dwarves?" he teased._ _

__"Lord Aule's fires." breathed Thorin, before throwing himself back down in new eagerness._ _

__Determined to both wring as much out of his master as he could and to leave him throughly exhausted, Thorin began kissing the pert nipples he had been denied earlier, putting his fingers up to Bilbo's mouth as he did so. Bilbo obligingly drew them inside and Thorin began to thrust them in and out of those plush lips. Once he tired of that sport, he swiftly drew them down and began teasing and twisting Bilbo's other nipple as his master moaned and wiggled enticingly against him. So Thorin continued in this manner, from nipples back to ears, sucking in dark bruises into the pale column of his master's neck as he did so, and kissing him deeply whenever he feared his master would order him to stop._ _

__It was not until his master had come for the third time and Thorin for the first, that Bilbo collapsed exhaustedly against the forrest floor and Thorin deemed himself satisfied. He lay panting against his masters neck for a while, until he felt himself begin to drift off. He forced himself to raise up on one arm, looking down on his now sleeping and exhausted master. He gazed at the high flush, the long lashes resting against pinkened cheeks, the button nose, the slack and reddened lips that made up the face of his master. Long did Thorin gaze before he was able to tear himself away, gently slipping his arm out from under Bilbo's neck as he rose._ _

__The first order of business was for Thorin to find Bilbo's neckerchief in the pile of shed clothes and gag his master with it. He gently slipped the soft cotton between softer lips, and began to hunt for rope. He did not find a spare coil, so he went to the pack on his pony's back and dug out his knife, which he used to cut part of the ropes that made the wooden pen. He tied it as gently as he dared around his master's wrists, wishing for smoother rope, and bound the other end to a nearby tree. His master slept on, and Thorin began to search around, confident that he could now continue assured of no interruptions._ _

__He searched the camp and found the troll's disgusting hoard. Trolls, as I'm sure you're aware, collect bits and bobs they find on the corpses of their unfortunate meals (whoever they do not eat them whole) and never trade them- not even with their ilk. For trolls view them as justly won trophies and are fiercely possessive of them. That is why it is not wise to raid of troll hoard unless you know the troll in question is quite dead. But although they are possessive of their prizes, that is not to say they take good care of them, nor the bolt-hole where they stash them and sleep. For trolls are disgusting creatures, and Thorin was quite displeased at leaving his soft and sweet smelling master and having troll stench stuck in his nostrils. But he was rewarded when he found several fine weapons and many coins and other wonderful things. He took one sword for himself, and as much of the coin as felt he could safely carry, and dragged the rest outside to air them out._ _

__He looked back at his still-slumbering master and sighed. He picked the smallest sword up and left it within crawling distance so that Bilbo would be able to free himself when he awoke. But to make sure he did not do so too soon, Thorin weighed down the blade with a chest of treasure so Bilbo would have a job of wiggling it out. Thorin went again to his pack and took out the book of maps. Like all proper map books, it was graced with blank pages at the end, for you never know when you may find new paths when adventuring. Thorin quickly copied out the map that showed the portion they were in now, encompassing the Trollshaws, the Shire, and Imladris, along with a note which ran thusly:_ _

__"Master Bilbo, I hope you will take this treasure as recompense for all that I have cost you. I will remember you fondly, but please do not follow me. I must go back to my people. I must. One day I may send word to you, but please understand. I beg of you, let me go to them._ _

__Your slave eternal,  
Thorin."_ _

__And taking Bilbo's pony after switching their tack, for his own had a nicked flank from the troll's ill handling, Thorin rode off leaving his slumbering master behind._ _

__

__Bilbo was Very Much Not Amused when he awoke._ _


	15. Comforts and Counsel

Bilbo was woken most unpleasantly. Dana was licking his face, having walked all through the night to find him. Now while it would have been humorus for him to think it was Thorin waking him in such a manner, Bilbo did not think so. For there is no other tongue like a dog's, none so slobbery, overlarge, and foul smelling. This discomfort is mitigated to dog owners by their love for their masters and their joy at meeting them again. But Bilbo was not feeling so very loving at the moment, although he was later quite grateful at the sacrifice his loyal hound had made in walking all night tracking the trolls and he. No doubt if there had been but a little less to go, she would have arrived before morning and bitten ferociously at their foul smelling ankles. Thankfully for her mouth, Bilbo had managed without having to resort to ankle biting.

He tried to shout for her to stop, and he tried to shout for Thorin to pull her off of him, and at that moment he discovered the gag and began shouting even louder. Eventually, with much wiggling and trying to escape a very joyful dog leaping all about him, he managed to free himself.

"Oooh, that, that _dwarf!_ I shall give him such a..a…" Bilbo didn't know what would be the most suitable punishment to this grave indignity, but he was very determined to find out. When he stomped his overlarge hairy feet over to the horse pen, he discovered that Thorin had taken Myrtle. And then, he began to lambast Thorin in earnest, for of course Dana's nose was now useless. Poor Dana didn't know it, but she caught the sharp side of Bilbo's frustrated tongue that day.

Once Bilbo had calmed down, the first order of business was to give himself a bath. If he was being honest with himself he stank rather badly (and he blamed it all on Thorin), and being a fastidious hobbit Bilbo couldn't stand it a moment longer. He trotted himself over to the nearest clean running water he could, and stripped down and scrubbed himself with the dark river sand as Dana tried her joyful best to knock him into the water. He did not find the trolls, for he stopped at a smaller tributary that was barely a trickle to the large brothers. A good thing too, for with Dana jumping all over him in her determined attempts to lick his face clean Bilbo fell in several times. As he could not swim, that would have been a tad more precarious than the blissfully shallow and freezing cold bathing accommodations he found himself in. After giving himself a through scrub down, still muttering angrily under his breath, he stomped back to the clearing and took stock while his clothes dried over a hanging branch. He, of course, found the treasure, and he had already found the sword, but he also found the map and the note.

"Blast and bebother that fool of a dwarf! Did nothing I say penetrate his thick skull? Why couldn't he have just _asked?_ I would have gone with him!" It is very doubtful, of course, that Bilbo would have from the very beginning. Hobbits are not generally known for wandering far and wide, but now Bilbo was feeling particularly Tookish and was already on an adventure. He, though he did not know it, was indeed only a quarter of the way through this one, but his way would have been a good deal shorter if Thorin had taken him along. He next turned his attention to the map.

"Can't go back to the Shire, and I assume I'm at Trollshaws, nasty brutes, so I suppose the only way forward is to Imladris!"

And so Bilbo trekked. It was a dreadfully lonely experience, and would have been quite jolly and smooth with a group. But all poor Bilbo could think of was how dangerous it was out there for Thorin. He supposed it was dangerous for him as well, but _he_ was not the one who ended up in the stewpot. I will not linger on those long days and nights Bilbo hiked, save to mention that he did learn how to unsaddle and resaddle his pony, for this new one was much less placid than Myrtle and objected strenuously to continually carrying her tack.

Eventually, he came to the Valley of Rivendell and forded the great stream that bound Lord Elrond's lands. For it was he who ruled this corner of Arda fairly and wisely, giving aide and counsel to all those who entered and fell under his domain, from elves to men to Maia and yes, if they so asked, dwarves as well. He even, as you will see, would care for little hobbits far from home.

As Bilbo continued his journey, a troop of elves spotted him from far way with their keen eyes and began to sing things to and about him. 

"Little hobbit, come and be jolly!  
To be all alone is such great folly!  
Come and join us  
Down in the Valley  
Tra-la-la-la -la-la-lally!"

There was a good deal more of this, and quite a bit less respectful, for the elves of the Last Homely House were free of care and worry under their Lord's protection, and could thus afford to be quite silly. Had he been traveling with a group, they undoubtedly would have gleaned his name from eavesdropping in on their conversations (for elves are dreadful easdroppers whether they mean it or not- and quite often they do indeed mean it- for they have such terrific hearing). But he was traveling alone, and so they continued singing calling him "little hobbit", "short dwarf child", "halfling", "round little rabbit," and eventually, "grumpy".

Bilbo, for his part, was quite entranced at the beginning, but he grew to be weary of their songs as they continued to tease him. He was hot, bothered, rumpled, and a trifle smelly. Internally he chaffed at meeting elves in this condition, but outwardly he was quite polite and asked them which way to Imladris.

"Why young master!" came a laughing call from one of the singing elves, "You have entered it! This is the lands of Imladris, held by our Lord Elrond, Master of the Last Homely House!"

"My apologies!" called Bilbo, as he bowed low, "I am quite untraveled and am only going by my map. If it would not be such an imposition, would you mind pointing me the way?"

"Point you the way!" cried the elf. "How inhospitable do the hobbits believe us to be! We shall lead you there ourselves, only tarry with us for tonight and rest."

"Gladly!" said Bilbo, "Only let me introduce myself so that you may cease having to call me 'hobbit'. I am Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End. At your service!" And here he bowed again, as was the proper way to greet someone.

"Bilbo Baggins,  
Comes from a Bag End!  
Soon to join us,  
Comes a-beggin'  
The elves he is asking  
To show them their kin

Bilbo, hobbit,  
Born in the Shire!  
Covered in Mire!  
Lacking no wit,  
So!  
To the House of our Lord  
Glorfindel shall lead him  
Tarry under starlight,  
Dance in the moonlight!  
To leave by sunlight!  
To the House of our Lord"

There were many more stanzas, and throughout them each elf would introduce themselves and whirl back up into their groups in the trees. Bilbo found his head quite swimming with all the introductions, and his back became weary of bowing up and down. Of course, the elves merely working in his "bobbing" into another stanza, and Bilbo couldn't decide between being amused or insulted. After being alone on the road for so long, and as a result of holding the elves in great esteem ever since he was very small, Bilbo chose to be amused and not a little impressed at their quick wit and their ability to create seemingly endless songs. For elves have lived long lives and they have made making merry a much practiced skill.

He tarried with the elves under starlight boughs, eating their food and listening to their stories wide eyed. The elves naturally preened a bit, though they teased him mercilessly until he began to share some of his riddles and jests. There is nothing an elf likes so much as new tales and riddles, and the elves of Rivendell were blessed to meet a steady supply of visitors to give them both. When you live countless centuries, hearing your neighbors jokes becomes unpalatably stale after the first hundred times. If you ever meet an elf, the best way to assure their friendship is to show them something new and novel. This does, perhaps, explain the occasional romance between an elf and a mortal, for mortals out of necessity are endlessly creating new things which invites the fascination of elves, who naturally fall into a bit of a rut of the same routines when left on their own too long.

And so it came that Bilbo Baggins arrived in Rivendell to the front door of the Last Homely House refreshed and hopeful. He was immediately taken to see the Master of the house, for none enter Elrond's domain without him greeting them first.

Now, if you will pardon the small delay, a word about Elrond. His is a past filled with sad tales, though he weathered them gracefully in the end. He had grown to be as kind as summer, as wise as a wizard, as fierce in battle as a general, and as gentle host as a hobbit (as Bilbo would inform him to his great pride and merriment many years later). He found it very refreshing to offer healing, comfort, council, and rest within his halls to all those who needed them, for he too had known what it was to go without those things. He had long been married, but there is the saddest tale of all. His beautiful and kind wife had, long ago, been traveling to her mother's home in Lothlorien. For her mother was the powerful and fair Galadriel, she who ruled the Golden Boughs with her husband Celembror. As her caravan was passing through the Misty Mountains, they were attacked and beset upon by wicked goblin forces, swarming like rats from their holes. Though her guards fought bravely, they were overwhelmed through sheer numbers, and the Lady was taken.

There, she endured horrors we shall not speak of, for they are too terrible, but the worst of all these torments was the rough and filthy collar forced around her neck. Alas! It is true. The Lady of Imladris was bound as a slave to the foul and wicked goblins who had burrowed into the mountains. By the time Elrond and his sons rode in with the force of their full battalions and rescued the Lady, it was too late. She, as all Elves do when bound, had began to fade. And so, weeping, Elrond and his lady love were forced apart by the sea as she rode with the grey ships to Valinor.

From that day forward, Elrond and his house swore vengeance upon all Goblins. And so, the sons of Elrond, the twins Elladan and Elohir, rode out and battled goblins until their swords broke and were reforged again and again. For they never had found the goblin who had bound their mother, and were determined that they should kill him and free her- if not from the collar, than from any hint of servitude.

Bilbo, having been raised on Shire tales and stories that do not often tell of grand elvish histories, did not know this story. For although he had, in his later years, fed his childish love of elves and his insatiable thirst for new tales and histories to add to his modest library, collected many elvish stories, the history of Elrond was only sung in sad elvish songs. No historian had yet put pen to paper to record the tale outside of Elrond's own libraries and his own diary, for the grief was too fresh. Now, it may seem odd that these recollections were still considered fresh in the minds of the elves of Imladris, but they have very long lives and can remember and hold on to grief and joy for longer than most mortal lifespans.

He bowed low before the Lord of Imladris and spoke many flowery words praising his fellow's hospitality and loveliness of his house. Elrond in turn spoke equally flowery words of welcome and inquiries about what brought a halfling so far outside of the Shire.

Bilbo gladly told him his tale.

"Oh Great Lord" (for this is how you greet an Elf Lord until you know him better, as Bilbo came to do), "Oh great elf lord, I am trying to find my runaway slave."

There was no gasp, for elves are not so uncouth, nor do they give anything away that they don't wish to, but suddenly Bilbo found himself with every elf's unerring focus. Undeterred, for until you have had the focus of an entire hobbit clan complete with small fauntlings and elderly matriarchs, you have not known true focus when telling tales, he continued on.

"His name is Thorin, and he is a dwarf. For you see, one day I was a-walking to the market…" and out came the whole tale, as Bilbo finished with a flourishing "So you see I am most dreadfully worried about him and I can't just abandon him to the wilds."

Poor Bilbo found himself surrounded by silence so sharp it could cut through dragon scales, and he discovered he now had to crane his head up as high as it would go, for Elrond was no longer kindly stooping to make things easier on his smallest visitor.

Now, I have already spoken about the wisdom of Elrond, and you will see it here. For he did not order Bilbo back to the Shire, nor did he clap him in irons, nor (worst of all) "forget" to feed him. That was not Elrond's way. He had lived long and seen all manner of people come before him, and he was very good at reading between the lines. Elrond heard the genuine worry and concern in Bilbo's tale, and it was not lost on him that hobbit masters did not usually follow runaway slaves outside of the Shire. Indeed, it had been many a year since Elrond had even seen as hobbit, as they did not like to travel beyond their boarders at all and he was not inclined to leave his lands defenseless and go about sight-seeing. Had Bilbo known this, he would have fretted about not packing his best waistcoat to make a suitable representation of his homeland. 

Instead, Elrond said to Bilbo (who was now beginning to wonder if he had said something very wrong indeed- perhaps the elves were shocked at trolls so near their home?) "I think that this tale would be best told inside and around the breakfast table where more can be shared than open air and standing up."

And Bilbo, who very much liked the idea of breakfast, agreed readily.

He found himself at Elrond's left hand around a small table filled with good food. Pastries, fresh fruit, oatmeal with cinnamon, and many other splendid things, for an elf's table is liable to be filled with delicious things even if they do not much like you. The difficulty is getting to the table, for if an elf does not wish to eat with you you shall never see one morsel of food. It is more difficult to make friends with elves these days, as those that are still in places that you or I might wander are slow to trust and not the least likely to show themselves unless you have something they want. But if you can manage it, I heartily recommend trying. And around this marvelous spread Elrond subtly interrogated Bilbo who was quite happy to answer all the questions he was asked honestly, as he felt he nothing to hide and the pastries were really quite marvelous.

And so Elrond, who was quite a good judge of character, came to find himself approving of a slave holder. Normally they were under great scrutiny and disfavor in that Lord's halls, but Bilbo was saved by the fact that he had never intended to own a slave and was truly only looking to help Thorin. It was not _his_ fault, after all, that Thorin had never mentioned his desire to go home, nor had he had a chance to accept or reject the proposal. It was also not quite Thorin's fault either, for one must remember it is very unlikely anyone would say such things to one who could magically command their obedience regardless of what they wished. But Bilbo was not aware of how collars worked, as Elrond had been much astonished to discover. He had questioned him so subtly that Bilbo had no idea what he was truly going after, as is wise and proper. For if Bilbo had been a bad sort, it would have been most unwise to let on that collars were more powerful than he realized.

Though Elrond had mostly made up his mind about Bilbo, he counseled him to remain in Imladris for a few days to regain his strength and plan his path. Elves are tricky you see, though they think themselves quite straightforward, and he wanted more time to study Bilbo and see what he could make of him.

And so little Bilbo found himself to be staying in the Last Homely House, and he was very happy about it too. He felt that he could live there for ever and ever, and given the choice between staying or finding himself back at home with Thorin, it would be a very close call and only because he would get to see Thorin again.

And speaking of Thorin, I am afraid he was having a rough time of it. He had taken his (well, Bilbo's) pony Eastwards to avoid the elves. But it had been long since he or any dwarf he knew had traveled the Easter paths, and they had grown wild and dangerous. So while Bilbo feasted on fresh fruits and listened to fair elvish singing under the stars and moon, Thorin was tramping over rough, stony paths that had not seen upkeep in long years, dodging caravans and wild bandits, hunting in strange forests with dangerous creatures, and being thoroughly rained on. At the moment Elrond was slyly plying Bilbo with more and more fine wines in the hopes that he could see if Bilbo's sober words were truly his sober thoughts, (and all he learned was that hobbits can hold their drink remarkably well, even against strong fortified wines from Dorwinion. And by remarkably well, I mean of course that little Bilbo became quite merry on one glass. But it should have only taken half, so there the pride of the hobbits was quite upheld. He also learned several Shire songs, the exact number of meals they eat, and one of the Brandybuck's secret recipes that Bilbo had wheedled out of a cousin through great heartache and trouble, which prompted Bilbo to solemnly swear a very amused Elrond to secrecy), Thorin was taking shelter in a cave in the mountains and was wringing out his clothes.

If you know anything at all about the Misty Mountains in those days, then you will know that mountain caves are seldom unoccupied. And so it was with this one- when Thorin went to sleep he was awoken by six sets of goblin hands grabbing him rudely, and he was borne away into the dark.

 

The elves of Imladris were not quite sure what to make of Bilbo Baggins. On one hand, he was a slave owner, and that is reviled in the Valley. On the other, he was a polite little fellow, who loved their songs and made a fantastic listener to their tales, always gasping appreciatively at the right moments. He was quick to laugh, generous when called upon, a flawless guest, and quite a gentle soul. Instead of deciding one way or another, they decided to follow their leader's example and treat him politely while testing him at every chance. One day, a few of them hit upon a scheme their lord had not, nor did he have any knowledge of their plans. Five of them plotted around the evening meal, hidden behind the plucking notes of a harp, and a pair named Pengolodh and Ludimul were chosen to carry the bulk of the scheme forward.

Bilbo was walking alone in the garden, happily smelling the flowers and wondering if he could beg for a handful of earth from the Valley for his gardener, or if that would be too presumptuous for a guest, when he heard a great cry around the corner. Dropping his thoughts like scattered buttons, Bilbo ran around the corner and cried out in horror.

There in the courtyard was a pair of elves- no, not of elves. A slave and its master. The hapless slave was being whipped with a leather belt, and already his shirt was ripped and crossed with lines of blood.

"Please, please no! No more Master, please! I'll be good! I'll do anything! Please!" screamed the slave.  
But the master only laughed, and the hair on Bilbos nape and toes fairly stood up to hear such an evil sound from such a fair creature. His arm still rose and fell, the sound of snapping leather a staccato above the screams. Bilbo could stand it no longer. He threw himself between the two and caught the belt in his hands.  
 _ **Crack!**_ Went the belt-end over Bilbo's face, just missing his eye and bringing a thin line of blood welling up.  
"Stop it! Just stop it right now! He said he was sorry- what could he have possibly done to deserve this?"  
The immediate silence would have been unnerving to anyone who was not a hobbit mid-rant.

"You have no business here, little guest of our Lord. This is a private matter."  
"There is a man crying out in pain in the middle of the courtyard- this is no longer private."  
"Do _perian_ not whip their slaves?" (Perian, of course, is Sindarian for hobbit, and I can only speculate why Pengolodh used it. If I must guess at the reasons of elves, which is not a very wise thing to do unless you are dealing directly with them, and then it is a very good idea indeed, I suppose it gave Pengolodh more hope of getting the truth out of our Bilbo. For elves and dwarves know, as men have forgotten, that if you name something in it's true name you hold more power over it. And while this is true, you can of course see the arrogance of an elf believing the Sindarian word for hobbit is anywhere close to the true name for them at all.)  
"Well yes, but we are flawed mortals! Or is that not what I heard some of you whispering day in and day out when you think I can't hear?" answered Bilbo hotly. "I would think that such an _elevated_ being as you, one of the First Born, would be above such disgusting acts!"  
"So you say they are disgusting? Then why do you do so?" said Pengolodh coldly.  
"I never said _I_ did so, you, you, _burr teg!_ Just because some farmers out in the wild edges picked up mannish habits doesn't mean we all do! How dare you!"  
Pengolodh tilted his head and his eyes began to glitter in a manner that little Bilbo, with his heaving chest and his tight hold on the belt, wasn't sure if he liked or not.  
"So you would never beat a slave? What if they disobeyed you?"  
"If you haven't heard, my slave did! And you know what I did to him? Scolded him!"  
"And he ran away. Again. How very effective your leniency is." scoffed Pengolodh.  
"At least I don't have his blood on my hands!" screamed Bilbo. "I would rather die than hurt him like that! Only a weakling rules through force- only a person who hasn't the wits in their brains must resort to the ones in their arms! And do you know what my 'leniency' has given me?" and here Bilbo Baggins tugged sharply at the belt, but he could not pull it from Pengolodh's hands. Not that he expected to, but still he tussled with high spots of color on his cheeks.  
"His love! So he ran away- he wants to go home! I think any of us would! I would rather have his loving disobedience than his hateful servitude because I am not a _monster like you!_ "  
"A monster you say? What if I told you I was whipping him because he tried to kill one of my fellows? What do you say to that?"  
And here Bilbo faltered a bit before gathering himself. "Well then…I would say why?"  
"Because he thought it was me. Because he thought they were trying to kill me and thought he should handle it himself. Because he is a monster. Because my companion was taking what he saw as his place in my bed. Because the sky was blue. Why does it matter?"  
"Of course it _matters!_ " Bilbo cried out. "The punishment must fit the crime! One punishment for all those teaches nothing and has no justice in it!"  
"So if he had a reason that 'fit' this punishment, you would find it acceptable, little guest?"  
"Justice always matters." said Bilbo in a low voice, tired from all the shouting. "It doesn't matter what station anyone is- without justice, we are no better than goblins. If he deserves it, then yes, beat him. But only do so if you would beat him as a free man. Perhaps it is because my people are a quiet one, unused to the trials of slavery on either side, but we rarely resort to violence. If this is how the elves deal with their slaves, then perhaps the world would look down on us hobbits if they knew how we treated folks, for you are wiser in many things. But I cannot say I am anxious to face a situation where justice demands blood, for if it reaches that point then something has gone terribly wrong."

"You are wise Bilbo Baggins, I would not wish it upon you either." The group startled as one to hear Elrond's voice. The elvish lord walked tall towards the group which had gathered quite the small crowd that Bilbo had not noticed in his anger. To look upon him, you would never think that he had just been running pell-mell towards the screaming of one of his people. He had stood quietly observing when he realized there was no threat.

Bilbo looked up and his face paled. Both he and Pengolodh dropped the belt which fell with a clatter on the stones. Ludimul awkwardly stood up and straightened his bloodied clothes.

Elrond serenly glided forward and touched the edges of Ludimul's robe.

"Pig's blood, mellon?"

"Yes Lord." said Ludimul with downcast eyes.

"Let us take this off of you." Elrond removed the faux collar with gentle fingers and dropped it atop the discarded belt. "Now, who will tell me what has happened here?"

"My Lord, it was at my doing." Another elf, one of the five conspirators, came out from the crowd.

"And what, exactly, have you done Iminlor?"

"We wanted to test Master Baggins to see if he was truly as gentle as he seemed."

Bilbo felt his toes curl a bit in surprise at being called gentle, for he hadn't thought himself anything of the sort. If pressed, he would have called himself quite fierce, for a hobbit that is. The idea that one of the Fair Folk would compliment him so flustered him greatly.

"Ah," sighed Elrond. "I had thought that might be it. The fault lies with me, for though I made up my mind about Master Baggins long ago I did not share my thoughts. Hear me now!" he called out to all the elves gathered about, "I proclaim judgement upon the Slave Owner Bilbo Baggins!"

And Bilbo began to tremble down to his furry little toes, for he had not realized he was being judged this whole time by the great and powerful Lord.

"I proclaim him to be as honest of heart as one such as he can be called, and that he has the favor of this House in his Quest, for he goes with love in his heart. Let him be given a pony and supplies! He shall ride out when he wishes, and the blessings of this House shall go with him on his journey."

And that is how Bilbo found himself on the road once more, with a pony under his legs, food in his pack, wise counsel in his ears, and a map to Erebor in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aliiiiiiiive! I promise I would never abandon this fic. *snuggles* There's been some health issues, some school issues, but fortunately nothing major. Just annoying enough to demand my full attention and leaving this chapter to be updated on the fly in between classes.
> 
> Burr Teg means "Fair foul" in Welsh, since I didn't know enough Hobbitish to make a guess so I used google translate to help me out. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> And thank you very much to the people who continued to leave notes and kudos and comments, you people really kept me going! And to the folks who noticed I forgot to tag this as Bagginshield, thank you so much! I can't believe I forgot to do that. You guys saved my bacon there.


	16. Flung into the Deep Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going off the book!verse here, where the Great Goblin has no idea what Thorin looks like, because goblin's don't have gossip magazines with pictures of foreign royalty.

Thorin, when we last left him, had been sized by six goblins and had been borne away into the dark. They had treated him very roughly and with great glee, for there is nothing they love so much as springing a trap on the unwary and coming away victorious.

With a snap! and a clap! they bound Thorin’s arms and legs in heavy shackles. But when they got to his neck and found him already collared they were mighty perplexed and snarled at him. They did not know if he was scouting for his master, or if his master was dead. If he was a scout, they could not use his collar against him and would have to force him to do their bidding the old fashioned way. Which is to say, copious amounts of whipping. Since they did not know which it was, they settled for shouting at him to run and whipping him anyways, with a dreadful ho! ho! my lad and ugly laughter following him.

Soon Thorin found himself pulled in front of the Great Goblin himself, a being of immense ugliness and cruelty. The Great Goblin fancied himself very clever, and very wise, but like all his kind his cleverness was the twisted sort only useful for making new punishments and devices of the most dreadful sort (of which I have no doubt have been the basis for many of the most dreadful weapons that plague our world today) and his claim to wisdom was dubious at best.

When he beheld Thorin in chains and shackles before him, and his pony off to the side with its saddlebags being strewn apart as his subjects quarreled and argued over its contents, he realized quite quickly that his collar was not of goblin make. For goblin love to put spikes on the inside, so they may crow and cackle in delight when their slaves flinched every time their masters pulled at their leads.

Goblins love to take dwarves as slaves, for they do marvelous work and last longer being away from the sun than any other creature. Goblins work their slaves hard and never let them see the sunlight for as long as their slaves last, miserably trudging about in the dark doing all the backbreaking work their collars can force them to bear. Dwarves are strong and naturally exceed at tunnels, so goblins capture them whenever they can.

Long ago, wicked dwarves (of which Thorin was proud to say bore no relation to him or his kin) and goblins would make treaties together. But once collars spread across Arda, the wicked dwarves found themselves in grave danger whenever they went to negotiate, and so the treaties fell to nothing. But the goblins remembered their fine dwarven slaves, and took more at every chance they could.

The Great Goblin, therefore, was mightily curious about whom Thorin belonged to, and how easy they would be to kill. Just as he was about to begin the questioning, one of his servants drew Thorin’s sword from its scabbard and began to shriek.

Although Thorin had not known it, he bore Orcist (which means “Goblin Cleaver”, but the goblins themselves called it Biter). The fine elvish sword he had pulled from the troll hoard had a long and mighty history to it.

It’s mate (that still languished in the hoard, for Bilbo had buried it and most of the gold coins in a deep pit, so that it might be safe and free of that awful stench. Had he known what it was, he assuredly would have brought it along, but he did not, and so it remained undisturbed and separated from its kin for the time being until Bilbo would remember it.) was the famous Glamdring, born by King Turgon himself.

Orcist and Glamdring had hewn thousands of necks between them, for they had been borne by the mighty Turgon, King of Gondolin, and Ecthelon, Lord of the Fountain Court. Noble elves devoted to the protection of their people and all the free peoples of Middle Earth, they were no friends of the goblins and in return the goblins bore them no love.

Upon seeing the return of the weapon of one of their most hated foes, the Great Goblin and his minions became enraged.

“Thieves! Murderers! Assassins! Elf-friend and elf-slave! Sent to try to kill us all! Let him be taken away, his master burnt to ash before him, whipped with snakes and left to rot! Slash him! Bash him! Let him be fed to dark worms, sent to work in the mines until he dies! Let him carry the heavy rocks and a thousand snakes about him! Murderer! Assassin! Find its master! Go, find it and kill it!”

And the goblins began whipping themselves into a froth, beating Thorin about the head and neck, snatching at his beard with their wicked claws.

Then a smaller goblin shrieked “Dance dwarf-scum, dance!”, and Thorin, attempting to shake the goblins off of him, flapped his arms and leapt about.

“Halt!” cried the Great Goblin, who had seen Thorin leap about. “Let the dwarf-scum be brought forth!”

And the goblins ceased beating Thorin, and dropped what limbs they had grabbed, and Thorin was pushed forward into the smoky light of the roaring fire off to the side of the large cavern.

“Who is your master, dwarf-scum?”

And since the Great Goblin was not his master, and so could not command his collar, and because Thorin was not a fool, he answered:

“A long dead man. He died and I stole his sword and ran.”

The goblins began to screech in victory.  
“Then you are mine now! You are now a slave to the Great Goblin, won in battle. Bow to me!”

And since Thorin was as crafty as he was wise, he bowed.

The Great Goblin shouted with wicked glee, and proclaimed that Thorin was to be taken to where the rest of the dwarven slaves were working, and that he would hang “The Most Hated Sword” (though in truth they hated its mate Glamdring much more) above his throne as a trophy.

Over the long and dreary time Thorin would be stuck deep in the mines, his sword would flame blue with hatred in response to both the Goblins and the impotent rage it could feel from its master. It glowed so brightly and let out such a thirst for goblin blood, the Great Goblin could not bear it to hang above his throne for long. In his rage and fear, he would try every debasement to dull his prize.

He tried to blacken its glow by having his subjects use it to poke the fire, but the soot did not hide the glow and Orcrist shone even brighter. He ordered it to be used as a spit to roast the wild boar they would catch from down in the valleys, but the pigs would fall off immediately, cleaved in half by the sharp edge that would not dull. He commanded his slave drivers to use the flat of it to whip the slaves, but somehow the slave-drivers hands would always slip and cut the chains instead. The Great Goblin could not bear to throw it away for all it galled him so, for it was such a magnificent prize. 

So in his frustrated bewilderment and temper, he thrust it under his throne as though it was dirt beneath a rug, and declared he had placed himself above his enemies.

There, hidden and vengeful, it waited.

-

As for it’s wielder, Thorin was taken to the mines and ordered to work alongside an elderly half-dead dwarf that night. So dark and twisted were the tunnels, he could see no one else along the lines even with his keen dwarven eyes until the slaves’ running-chain was tugged and they were corralled into a small dank and smokey cavern that was used for sleeping (what little of it they were allowed).

There did Thorin take stock of his fellow slaves, dwarves and humans alike. Though he recognized none of the humans and a multitude of the dwarves were unknown to him, it was with surprise that he recognized many of his fellow slaves from the battlefield and the caravan.

Here were all of the dwarves taken away in the second caravan when the slavers had split the group in twain. Thorin’s memory of the split was hazy, for he had been recovering after his latest escape attempt and the subsequent punishments after. He had taken all of the punishment for attempting to murder their captors, when in truth it was Fili and Haagar along with him. They had failed because their collars had punished them the moment they had raised their knives, but Thorin had been the only one able to push through the agony to make a small cut on one of the slaver’s arms. He had been punished by both his collar and the whips of his masters until he could not stand and had to be carried, mostly unconscious, in the cramped caravan.

At one of the waystations, the slavers had split off into two groups. The dwarves and the shorter or fatter humans (the short for work, the fat for food) had gone off to the mountains, and the rest of the humans off to the flatlands. The caravans could not go up the steep rocky paths, so Thorin was left insensible in the caravan, off to the Shire.

But here they were all again, dwarves of the Iron Hills who had answered his summons. It was _his_ fault they were here. His greed had doomed them to this. Thorin looked out over all the slumped bodies, horrified.

Of course in the end, if Dain’s armies had not come, all would have perished on the battlefield and there would have been Elvish and mannish slaves in that pit as well, but Thorin had no room for that thought in the face of his crushing guilt and horror.

Slowly the dwarves took note of him as well, and the whispers of despair echoed around the jagged walls as the dwarves saw the one they had pinned so much hope on caught along with them. That Thorin had not been given to the goblins had been a source of great comfort and hope, as they held out the slimmest of hopes that he would be able to pass on word to their kin of where they were, if not rescue them himself. But now their one ray of hope and been crushed by the darkness of the pit, and as the whispers spread they extinguished the one small glimmer of light still left in their despairing eyes.

Echoes of sorrowful whispers bounced around Thorin’s ears, until he saw a dwarf stand up unsteadily in his manacles to peer out at him from across the gloom.  
Now it was Thorin’s turn to whisper, as the shocked sound of a name fell from his lips at the familiar silhouette.

“…Fili!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, yeah, told you we'd get to him! Check out this sexy regular update. Your kudos and comments have fueled me! Stick around some more, because this ride isn't even close to being over yet. It's going to get bumpy!


	17. Sounds in the Dark

Bilbo was not comfortable at all. Considering how he was between an obstinate horse to his front and a tiny ledge with a worryingly large drop to his side, it would be surprising if he were. Nobody had told _him_ after all that the mountain paths were too steep for ponies. In fact, Bilbo was looking dubiously over his shoulder at the tiny ledge and wondering if it was too steep for hobbits. Or if it could even be properly considered a path.

Bilbo had never seen the world outside the Shire himself (being a usual retiring gentlehobbit), and maps painted in broad strokes focused more on that the mountains were there, not how to properly scale them. He was properly flummoxed. Nowhere in the tales of Lúthien and Beren was it sung of how Beren managed to coax an overloaded pony onto a shale ledge.

In Bilbo’s opinion, managing that was clearly a feat that was worthy of songs.

Minty (as Bilbo had named her, as Thorin was not around to object to the name Bilbo gave his pony) was not having any of it, no matter how song worthy it would have been to brave that tiny ledge. Ponies are more sensible than lovesick hobbits, but then, most creatures are. Hobbits will tell you they are sensible, and don’t you believe a word of it when they’re in love. Very few people are, and hobbits will even _share family recipes_ when they have a particularly bad crush. Secrets passed down from generation to generation betrayed by a pretty smile. No, hobbits can get very silly indeed when they are in love.

However, this (in Bilbo’s opinion) had passed silliness and was fast approaching farcical levels. Minty couldn’t turn around, and nor could she safely go backwards. She wouldn’t walk forwards, and she couldn’t safely go on the ledge even if she was obliged to. He was well and truly stuck.

The little hobbit sat down on the ledge, dangled his feet over, placed his head in his hands, and sighed deeply.

Who knows how long he would have sat there for, if not for a frightening discovery several minutes of moping later.

 

For you see, Bilbo’s suspicions were correct. The ledge _wasn’t_ part of the path. In fact, he had not been walking on the proper trail for some time now. Little Bilbo Baggins had been diligently trooping his pony up the rocky crags of a Stone Giant. He was quickly made aware of his mistake when the giant began to stand up.

 

Stone Giants are a curious race of people. Far taller than the mighty Ents, their skin is made of stone (or is close enough to it), and they typically spend most of their days sleeping. When they are roused, the rumbles through the stone around them awaken their brethren nearby, who, naturally, get upset at the disruption. They then proceed to throw stones at the giant who awoke them, as someone might throw a boot at a particularly noisy cat outside their window. The first giant naturally takes offense to this, as he was just innocently getting up, and proceeds to voice his opinions by lobbing a boulder back. Complaint thus lodged, various other Stone Giants will awaken and proceed to join in on the fun, lobbing back huge shards of rock like they were no more than snowballs. Once the entire group gets the festivities out of their systems, they proceed to move to a quieter mountain valley to nestle down in and resume their naps.

Back in those younger days, Stone Giants still remained somewhat close together in the same battle formations Morgoth had left them, strewn about on the face of Middle Earth like abandoned toy soldiers. In our own time, this natural cycle of waking and then moving has lead to stone giants being very solitary creatures. And without their brethren to periodically awaken them, they tend to stay asleep for many a year and proceed to get slowly covered up in shale and growing grass. It is very hard to awaken a Stone Giant nowadays, unless one is a hapless mining company who accidentally drills too deep. But as any vigilant watcher of the daily news knows, that is not a very common occurrence.

Little Bilbo had the misfortune to have wandered into one of those old groups of giants now. Gandalf and Elrond had long suspected there was a group tucked away in the Misty Mountains, as those mountains themselves had been raised by Morgoth to hinder the Valar, but as they had not been seen in many a year they had shrugged it off and continued about their (in Gandalf’s case) various wanderings and (in Elrond’s case) various medicines.

Little Bilbo himself would later give them quite an earful about this. But for now, he was clutching the leg of a Stone Giant in quite a panic while Minty reared and bucked and whinnied in panic. Unfortunately for Bilbo, her reigns were still wrapped around his hand, and so when her hooves slipped off the tiny path, both pony and hobbit plunged down.

-

Thorin was not as young as he used to be. He was a good one hundred and ninety-five years old, and as he carried a basket of broken stone almost as big as he was, he felt every year. He was chained in a long running line of shackled dwarves, each carrying a similar basket. Oh how Thorin gritted his teeth! To think, the King of Erebor (for he had won it in battle and it was his), playing pack-mule to goblin tunnelers. If they were going to have dwarvish slaves, why would they dig the holes themselves! At least then Thorin would have the comfort of knowing the tunnel would be at least straight and smooth, instead of the jagged and twisted mole tunnels the goblins made. Goblins could dig faster than dwarves, it was true, but only because dwarves took the time to do it right! It was maddening.

Even more maddening was the fact he hadn’t been able to come up with a plan to lead his comrades to freedom yet. He was the only free dwarf in the group, as his collar was not bound to goblin masters, yet he was still as chained as any of them. Damn the goblins for finding physical shackles amusing! Anything that caused more pain was a good thing to a goblin, and the Great Goblin was a paranoid creature anyways, always wanting to make sure the slaves were exactly where he wanted them and not where his possibly deceitful lieutenants would take them.

Thorin, for all his many years and battle prowess, had no head for strategy. He preferred (as most dwarves do) to either bash the problem’s head in or retreat to a nice snug mountain and wait for it to bash itself to death outside. But Thorin was already inside a mountain, and so was the enemy. He could not fight all the goblins in the mountain, and he certainly couldn’t fight his fellow dwarvish slaves who would be ordered to bring him down while the goblins jeered.

Tottering under the weight of his heavy burden while goblins cracked whips and cackled at the ”grandfathers” to go faster, Thorin grit his teeth and bit his tongue and prayed Fili wasn’t watching him so closely anymore. If Fili was looking at the ground as so many of their fellows were, then perhaps he could be spared witnessing this additional indignity too.

Thorin had no such luck. Fili was many dwarves behind Thorin in the line, but he still stared with round gleaming eyes at his uncle.

Thorin prayed for someone, anyone, to think up a plan because with the weight of his nephew’s eyes upon him he was totally at a loss.

-

Bilbo landed on something bony belonging to Minty, which she did not appreciate. She began to kick, and since they had both landed in a river Bilbo ended up disoriented with several mouthfuls of hoof-flavored freezing cold water. Not for the last time on this journey, he was Very Much Not Amused. Minty attempted to right herself, but the river was just barely too deep for the short pony’s hooves to touch the bottom. Bilbo, dazed from the fall and terrified of drowning, instinctively made garbled shushing noises and clutched to any handhold available, which turned out to be a strap from the baggage and a bit of mane. Minty did not appreciate this and whinnied harder. Were Bilbo’s pointed ears not stuffed full of water, he possibly would have been deafened from the sheer amount of the equine displeasure being voiced.

Minty, laden with baggage, stunned from the fall, and in no mood to think about things logically (as few horses are, don’t let their usually placid faces fool you- behind that blank stare is a small pile of cunning that amounts to the precise number of brain cells to figure out when to foul their stalls _just_ as their keeper are finished cleaning it out and not far enough to pretend they didn’t see it.) She was in no position to properly fight the swift current and reach the high rocky sides and perform her best goat impression, and neither was Bilbo.

Bilbo and Minty were helplessly carried away by the current into the mouth of a dark cavern, and neither were particularly calm about it.

-

Thorin had thought of a plan.

Well. Perhaps it is better to say that Thorin had a plan to think of a plan.

It took careful maneuvering, but by a combination of goblins being unable to tell the difference between dwarves (in their defense, there is not a lot of face left on a dwarf once you factor in how much is obscured by their beards, eyebrows, and voluminous hair that tends to fall all over their faces when subjected to hard labor and masters uncaring of such important things as braiding time) and the chaos of unshackling from the running chains and re-shackling to the cave chains, Thorin had contrived to sit right next to Fili.

Thorin leaned over as inconspicuously as he could, and let his long hair swing over his face to hide his moving mouth. He whispered to Fili, “Namadinùdoy, how fare you?”

Fili didn’t respond.

Thorin whispered again, “Fili?”

And still Fili remained silent, his face shadowed and unrecognizable. 

Much perturbed, Thorin tried again. “Fili? Are you well? Have they hurt you sister-son?”

Fili’s still did not speak. But his chains began to clink together.

Of course they had hurt him, thought Thorin. They are goblins. But surely he is still capable of speech? Have they ripped out his tongue? Is he furious with me for leaving? Are his ears punctured, is he deafened? Is this Fili at all?

Thorin tried once more, with a quavering voice, to rouse Fili. Only the clinking of chains answered him.

He sat back and tried not to sob. As he closed his eyes in despair, a hand slid over his. He opened his eyes again and found himself staring into the intense gaze of his nephew and the chains rattled softly and rhythmically. Thorin frowned, not understanding, until his nephew’s eyes flicked back to the chains and Thorin began to listen.

Thorin leaned his head in and reverently touched foreheads with his nephew.  
“Clever namadinùdoy.” He whispered, as he began to listen to the code.

-

Minty thrashed and screamed, her watery cries echoing eerily against the unseen cavern walls in the pitch black. Bilbo had let go of her, her thrashing hooves too dangerous, and was bobbing as best he could. Hobbits have a natural fear of water, and Bilbo was no exception. He would later reflect that this was the worst part of the whole adventure, bar none. But he kicked with his oversized feet and drew in breaths when he could. It was only pure luck that he did not dash himself against the jagged rocks that lined the cavern, as he was small and born in the center of the raging river. Eventually Minty stopped screaming, and that was the worst part for Bilbo.

But in that eerie darkness, where the only sounds to be heard were the rushing water, Bilbos pained gasps, and the thuds of horseflesh hitting rocks, there was nothing to do but keep kicking.

-

Thorin had learned many things, sitting next to Fili. He learned that Fili had been ordered not to speak after a failed rebellion, that only the Great Goblin held any hold over the slaves for he alone was bound to the collars as Master, that there were 30 dwarves and 7 men in the same cave, but more might be hidden in the food caverns as fresh stock, and that Fili and all the other dwarves were in very bad shape. He also learned that the goblins who delight in pain will whip two dwarves sitting quietly for no reason but that they found it amusing.

Thorin gritted his teeth, and clinked the chains to ask Fili about the entrances and exits.

-

Eventually the hellish nightmare came to an end, as the river emptied out into a deep and still lake. Minty washed up ashore, the small waves of her passage lapping at her belly, and Bilbo crawled up gasping next to her.

He looked to the side, and unable to bear what he saw there, he crawled further behind some rocks so he wouldn’t have to see anymore. Suddenly, in the still gloom, a voice whispered out, echoing and hard to pin down.

“Look Precious! Horseflesh!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for waiting so patiently for this! I'd also like to thank a few redditors who pointed out errors in previous chapters, I had left them in until I posted the next chapter so it would light a fire under my butt to finish sooner. You are all the best! Those errors should be gone now, sorry that my messages are too, otherwise I would thank you lovely people by name.
> 
> I'd like to apologize for the pony death here, but in my defense, Tolkien killed off at more than a dozen ponies in the original Hobbit and LOTR. RIP Minty, you beautiful champion.
> 
> And to all those who wondered if Gollum was going to be in this, break out the sushi rice, because you all get a fish.


	18. Riddles and Wreckage

Bilbo was terrified. And he was fairly certain whatever had been eating Minty was now wearing one of his waistcoats.

He was in fact rather peeved at that, and he clung onto that feeling of righteous indignation as tightly as he could to prevent himself from screaming. It was, in his opinion, rather rude of whatever-this-was to be presumptuous enough to rummage through his saddlebags and wear his clothing.

But at least, Bilbo reasoned, this must mean that this creature had no idea that he was near, for surely he wouldn’t be messing about with clothing when there was an intruder in his cave would he? On the other hand, if Bilbo had been wearing as much as that creature was originally, he would have put on clothes as quickly as possible too. It was rather chilly in the cave.

But on the third hypothetical hand, _that was his second best waistcoat._ And he hadn’t even done up the buttons properly! Not to mention (and here Bilbo, when recounting the tale years later, would give a proper shudder) the gore that covered the creature from mouth to chest. One would think that a creature that took care enough to pin in a little flashing golden hoop in its ears would have more respect for brass buttons.

Of all the indignity.

Suddenly, Bilbo registered how quiet the cave had suddenly become.

He sat there, ears straining, for an unguessable amount of time, before he clutched his sword in its scabbard tightly and braved peaking his head around the corner of the rock he was hiding behind.

He saw nothing.

Ears ringing from the silence, he leaned out a little more, his knuckles turning white on the hilt. 

“What is it precious?”

Bilbo did _not_ scream. He was rather proud of that. He did, however, draw his sword rather faster than he’d ever been able to before, and he was also proud of that.

“The owner of that rather fine waistcoat you are wearing, if you must know.” Bilbo couldn’t help that, things like that tended to slip out when he was scared, as I’m sure you’re aware by now. In deference of his ingrained manners, he did follow that up with a polite little short bow and “Bilbo Baggins, at your service” which he added as a mere polite nothing.

“It means this, _gollum gollum_ , does it?” And here the creature gave a horrible gargling noise in the back of its throat. For a dreadful moment Bilbo was very concerned his fine waistcoat would get whatever this creature’s equivalent of hairballs was on it in addition to the horse blood. But nothing of the sort happened, as it seemed that the horrid noise was that creature’s equivalent of a throat clearing, although it happened enough that Bilbo wondered if he had a cold. Small wonder, living in such dank environs!

“Yes it does mean- I do mean that!”

“We rather likes it, we does Precious.” said the creature somewhat apologetically, but not apologetically enough to take it off.

“Well, I suppose I could let you keep it, in an exchange?”

“Exchange _gollum gollum_?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo, the wheels in his mind turning, “I suppose you know these tunnels?”

“Yes, precious does know these tunnels, been down the twistsy darks paths we have.”

“Well how about we make a trade? You keep the waistcoat and in exchange you show me the way out.”

“Tradeses?” said the creature, with a crafty light coming into its eyes, “We could makes a tradeses, we could, couldn’t we precious? But it doesn’t know the way out, does it? Bagginses is all lost, and there is goblins down in the twisty dark tunnels. Bagginses wants us to risk our necks, precious, hiding and sneaking from the goblinses, with their sharp swordses and clever eyes, for just a little thing like this does it?”

“I see your point,” said Bilbo “How about I give you three waistcoats, a shirt, and some trousers?” (Bilbo privately thought Gollum, as he had named him, needed the last item the most.)

“Interesting precious! But we don’t need more clotheses than what we have precious. We haves enough, been down here long long yearses with what we haves.”

“So you don’t want the clothes?”

“We wants them! _gollum gollum_ We wants the clotheses, oh yes we do, but clotheses aren’t enough to risks swordses, it understands, doesn’t it precious?”

“Well you’ve already eaten part of my pony! That’s many meals right there, still good. Surely you must count that?”

“Oh we does precious, we does! It was very delicious, indeeds, _gollum gollum. _” said he very solicitously. “But if Bagginses wants, Bagginses can have the rest of the pony. Bagginses will get hungry if he stays down here long.” He added in a very hinting manner.__

__Bilbo got his point._ _

__“Then what do you want!” he cried out._ _

__“We wants all of the nice clothses, and all of the tools and tricks it keeps in its bagses, and the pony!”_ _

__“Look, you simply cannot keep all of my supplies. I will need those!”_ _

__“Needs them more than it needes out?”_ _

__Bilbo got the point again._ _

__“How about a little game then?”_ _

__“Gameses?”_ _

__“Yes. How about we play a riddling game, and if I win, you get _half_ of all my saddlebags and show me the way out?”_ _

__“And if precious wins?”_ _

__“Then you get _all_ of the saddlebags, and the horse, and I stay down here.”_ _

__Bilbo had thought that Gollum would not want a second person living in his cave just as much as he wouldn’t want to live in that cave, thus making Gollum’s win a bit detrimental. But he hadn’t reckoned on how Gollum saw the world. Gollum thought to himself that if he won, he’d have all the clothes and all the fancy tools, meat for now, and meat that stayed fresh until he wanted it for later. No going out and wringing goblin necks for him!_ _

__In fact, thought Gollum, there was no risk of him not winning. If the funny creature won, well, it was dark and the Baggins had such a soft looking neck._ _

__“Dealses!” said he, to Bilbo’s shock._ _

__Bilbo now began to wonder if he had offered too much too soon, but he saw no way out of it and agreed._ _

__“Deal.”_ _

__-_ _

__Thorin was having a terrible time._ _

__It grated his every nerve to follow the orders of goblins, miserable wretched and twisted beings with only enough cleverness to cause inventive pain and not enough to put out a candle._ _

__Frankly, he didn’t have enough beard left to be around those so careless with fire._ _

__He had caught a bit of a break though, when he discovered that stalagmites could be broken off from their work site and hidden under clothes. Thank goodness there were enough of the stalagmites to pass off to his companions, because he wasn’t sure if he would reach the stalactites inconspicuously enough._ _

__Now every dwarf had sharpened bits of stone under their jerkins, but that meant nothing if the Great Goblin still wielded control over their collars._ _

__-_ _

__

___What has roots as nobody sees,_  
 _Is taller than trees,_  
 _Up, up it goes,_  
 _And yet never grows?_

__“Easy!” said Bilbo. “Mountains, I suppose.”_ _

__“Does it guess easy precious? It should be more careful with the riddle gameses, it should.”_ _

__“My apologies.” Bilbo said both to avoid antagonizing the blood-covered creature in front of him and to give himself more time to wrack his brain for riddles._ _

_____Thirty white horses on a red hill,_  
 _First they champ,_  
 _Then they stamp,_  
 _Then they stand still._

__It was a dreadfully easy one, and rather old too. But it was the first riddle Bilbo could think of, and so Gollum answered with ease._ _

__“Chestnuts! Chestnuts. Teeth, teeth my precious, but we only has six.”_ _

__Frankly Bilbo was impressed Gollum was able to eat anything at all. He privately excused Gollum’s messiness somewhat._ _

__The riddle game went on._ _

__-_ _

__Today was the day the dwarves looked forward to the most, if only for a brief respite from their backbreaking labor._ _

__Inspection day._ _

__The Great Goblin was not very trusting of his lieutenants, especially when it came to his valuable property. That is to say, frequently slaves turned up half-eaten, and the Great Goblin did not appreciate that when _he_ wasn’t the one doing the eating._ _

__The Great Cavern was filled with dancing smoky flames, and row of row of browbeaten slaves surrounded by dancing and cackling goblins drinking deep from their cups. Inspection day meant no work for the goblins while the Great Goblin slowly and laboriously counted each one of his slaves. Meats roasted and cups overran while the goblins in charge of the slaves stood by the rows and trembled. Horrid jarring music with pounding drums out of time pulsed through the foul air, as the slaves stared dead eyed straight ahead._ _

__-_ _

_____Voiceless it cries,_  
 _Wingless flutters,_  
 _Toothless bites,_  
 _Mouthless mutters._

__This stumped Bilbo for a little bit, as he became disconcerted thinking about biting in conjecture with this sorry creature._ _

__-_ _

__Orcrist glinted from below the massive bulk of the Great Goblin upon his throne, as he heaved and rocked himself side to side to stand._ _

__As his grotesque thighs lumbered down, rippling every time they struck the floor like a mound of poorly congealed pork drippings, Thorin caught glimpses of Orcrist’s furious blue glow. He kept his eyes glued on it like a beacon, a lifeline, a last dying hope._ _

__“Well well! Here we have it then, all you slaves in one place. I wager you know why you’re here, yes! Murderes, friends of elves, thieving scum! You’re here because you are only fit to lick goblin boots, and be grateful for it! Miserable persons the lot of you, grubs! Ants! Wriggling little creatures in the dark! Let’s see how many are left hm?”_ _

__And thus began the laborious count._ _

__“One…two…”_ _

__-_ _

_____An eye in a blue face_  
 _Saw an eye in a green face._  
 _"That eye is like to this eye"_  
 _Said the first eye,_  
 _"But in low place,_  
 _Not in high place."_

__Gollum had not been outside in an age, so he hissed and spluttered until long forgotten memories bubbled up to the surface, like tea leaves on a hissing kettle._ _

__-_ _

__“Aha! What have we here? There are three missing from the digging group! Eaten! Gobbled up! Crushed! Foreman, report! Where have the grubs been, do they lie in the earth or your bellies?”_ _

__“Oh Great Goblin, your Mighty Malevolence, there was a collapsed tunnel three digs ago, we swear upon our lowly hide none of your foremen would dare touch your belongings, oh mighty one.”_ _

__“Slave! Report! Does he speak true?”_ _

__The hapless worker’s collar burned, and under the angry and terrified glare of his twitching foreman he replied honestly._ _

__“Great Goblin, highest of goblins, there was a tunnel collapse, but we dug out one of our trapped brethren. Lugorth took him away, and sent him to gather fish from the low pools.”_ _

__There are strange things living in the pools and lakes in the hearts of mountains: fish whose fathers swam in, goodness only knows how many years ago, and never swam out again, while their eyes grew bigger and bigger and bigger from trying to see in the blackness; also there are other things more slimy than fish. Even in the tunnels and caves the goblins have made for themselves there are other things living unbeknown to them that have sneaked in from outside to lie up in the dark. Some of these caves, too, go back in their beginnings to ages before the goblins, who only widened them and joined them up with passages, and the original owners are still there in odd comers, slinking and nosing about._ _

__The goblins knew this well. But sometimes, the Great Goblin would get a craving for fish and would send down one of his servants. Sometimes neither the fish nor the goblin came back._ _

__“Fools! Thieves! Did I not tell you to go _yourselves?_ Miserable wretches! What good is it wasting a strong slave on fish? Imbeciles! Do you want to dig the holes yourselves? Carry the rocks? Smelt the iron? Scrub the privies? Juggle the torches?”_ _

__In truth, the Great Goblin used the fish-gathering as a punishment for the rowdier and least loyal of his kingdom._ _

__In his rage he began to dance about, his jowls jiggling and flapping like the wings of an insulted bird, his arms rippling like rotted pudding in a mighty earthquake._ _

__“Cowards! Deceivers! Wreckers of MY wealth! You dare defy your King? Scum! Filth! Elf-lovers and Ruinous Wreckers!”_ _

__The Great Goblin stormed over to his thrown and threw it over with a mighty BANG! and a CLASH!_ _

__Orcrist shone like an unearthed star filled with fury._ _

__-_ _

__

_____It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,_  
 _Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt._  
 _It lies behind stars and under hills,_  
 _And empty holes it fills._  
 _It comes first and follows after,_  
 _Ends life, kills laughter._

__

__-_ _

__Thorin watched all the goblins shriek in fear as the Great Goblin swung Orcrist threateningly above his head. Many dived into the tunnels and scurried far away like fleeing rats, while others lost their heads and ran hither and yon, gibbering, some even leaping through the bonfires to escape. When their rags caught on fire, they shrieked even louder and wailed loudly in despair as they ran smoking around their brethren who in a panic pushed them away, lest they catch on fire themselves._ _

__The Great Goblin in his rage drove the goblins before him into a jagged corner of the cave, his massive bulk swinging every which way, roaring loudly about betrayal, Orcrist humming in anger above him._ _

__-_ _

___A box without hinges, key, or lid,_  
 _Yet golden treasure inside is hid_

__

__-_ _

__Thorin shifted forward, his eyes darting about. The Great Goblin’s unprotected back, the way he was blocking his own soldiers into a corner, the chaos and screaming, surely, it was too good of a chance to resist?_ _

__With tremulous fingers he touched the sharpened stalagmite fragment tucked into his waistband._ _

__“Stand and watch my slaves, to what happens to betrayers! Deceivers! Liars and thieves!”_ _

__Thorin groaned- no help could come from his brethren now under orders to stay put until the Great Goblin was dead. Could he charge an entire goblin horde by himself? Should he risk it?_ _

__If he failed, was he not dooming the one frail chance on which the whole hopes of his people rested?_ _

__-_ _

_____Alive without breath,_  
 _As cold as death;_  
 _Never thirsty, ever drinking,_  
 _All in mail never clinking._

__-_ _

__Which was the right thing to do? Which way lead to death, and which to freedom? Even if he died in the attempt, if he succeeded would it not be worth it, for the freedom of his fellows?_ _

__-_ _

_____No-legs lay on one-leg, two-legs sat near on three-legs, four-legs got some._

__-_ _

__The Great Goblin roared, and the cavern walls shook. Howling and gibbering echoed about bouncing off jagged walls and blinding smoke, as the goblins scratched and scrabbled at the walls behind them, desperate to gain purchase._ _

__-_ _

_____This thing all things devours:_  
 _Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;_  
 _Gnaws iron, bites steel;_  
 _Grinds hard stones to meal;_  
 _Slays king, ruins town,_  
 _And beats high mountain down._

__-_ _

__Thorin’s hands trembled on the sharpened rock, torn between drawing it out and hiding it deeper, as he struggled to make the right choice, the only choice, the terrifying horrible no good choice-_ _

__-_ _

__**TIME! TIME!** _ _

__-_ _

__Bilbo mopped his brow. He had just squeaked out the answer to Gollum’s last riddle, quite by accident. This riddle game was far too close for his comfort, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up._ _

__Gollum was horribly close now, having crept nearer and nearer while Bilbo struggled with his last riddle. Gollum was getting bored of riddles, and was wondering if he should kill the squeaking thing now or if that would be far too much meat to eat before he and the horse spoiled._ _

__Bilbo didn’t know what exactly was running through Gollum’s mind, but it wasn’t too hard to guess._ _

__“Come now, must gives us its riddle now, mustn’t it precious?”_ _

__Now Bilbo was in a horrible position. He was so flustered by how close that last riddle had been, and how close Gollum was, that is was all he could do to keep his tiny sword held aloft without trembling too badly. He was quite through with riddles just then, thank you very much._ _

__“What’s its riddle? What is it? Does it forfeit? Is it juicy? Is it, precious? Is it?”_ _

__Bilbo trembled and stamped his feet and even took one hand off his sword to pinch and slap himself, but still he could not think of a riddle. He mourned to himself for ever getting in this mess, and while trying desperately to take heart the thought of Thorin’s face. Dear sweet Thorin!_ _

__Without quite meaning to, Bilbo blurted out. “What am I looking for?”_ _

__It was not, as you can plainly see, a proper riddle when considering the ancient rules, but Gollum thought it an easy one and so swiftly went to answer._ _

__“The ways out!”_ _

__“Wrong!” cried Bilbo, a bit more cheerful._ _

__Now that Gollum had offered a guess, he couldn’t dismiss the riddle entirely from the game but he felt it was by no means fair. Besides, he was feeling a bit antsy, sitting and riddling so long when there was so many other things to do. Like eating horseflesh, or rummaging through those interesting bags, or eating his guest._ _

__“Not fair. Must gives us three chances it must.”_ _

__“Alright!” agreed Bilbo easily, not very eager to resume proper riddling himself. And, he thought optimistically, there’s no real way he could possibly guess, could he? In fact, expanded Bilbo gleefully, by accepting the riddle and asking for chances, he practically forfeited the game AND couldn’t complain about unfairness!_ _

__“Riches?” guessed Gollum._ _

__“Wrong again!” said Bilbo cheerily._ _

__“Tradeses?” said Gollum after a bit of thinking. Perhaps the strange creature was of a merchant group?_ _

__“Not it either!” Bilbo was now very sure he was going to win this game._ _

__Now Gollum was in a terrible bind. He hissed, and he spluttered, and he rocked himself back and forth trying to remember the world outside and what it wanted most._ _

__“Come on, come on, give us your guess! I’ve given you a good long while now.” said Bilbo._ _

__“Home or nothing!” cried Gollum, which was not quite fair, working in two answers at once._ _

__“Both wrong.” said Bilbo, quite relived. He supposed he would have had to accept “love” if Gollum had thought to give it._ _

__Now Gollum was terribly angry._ _

__“It wasn’t fair precious! Not on a walking-holiday, not looking for tradeses, what does it wants?”_ _

__“That’s none of your business I’m sure.” said Bilbo crossly, wondering at the creature’s use of the term walking-holiday. How would such a creature even know of that favorite pastime of Bilbo’s? He also was quite sure the first person he told about his love for Thorin would not be this creature, no indeed._ _

__“It cheats! It cheats! It’s a filthy wicked rotten cheater my precious, it is!” Gollum spat and hissed, working himself up into a fury._ _

__“I am not!” cried Bilbo, quite unfairly. Even by his own admission that was not quite a proper riddle at all, but he was in no mood to consider that. Gollum had accepted it, and was now whining because he lost like a fauntling with a tantrum._ _

__“Cheaters! It cheats us, It cheats us! It cheats the precious!” and here Gollum in his fury leapt right at Bilbo._ _

__With a startled cry, Bilbo swung his sword. As Gollum leapt, He drove himself right into Bilbo’s swing, narrowly missing getting the tiny sword driven straight into his brow. Instead, Bilbo’s swing lopped off his ear and bit shallowly into Gollum’s shoulder. Gollum fell back and writhed on ground in pain, shrieking most terribly._ _

__Stunned by his first act of such bloody violence, Bilbo in a trance bent down and picked up Gollum’s severed ear. Holding it aloft, he gazed unthinkingly at the golden hoop pierced through it._ _

__“Cheater! Thief! Liar! We kills it! We kills the Baggins!”_ _

__Startled from his trance, Bilbo without thinking tucked the gruesome trophy into his pocket, and abandoning his packs, ran blindly down into the tunnels._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien, your grammatical stylings are as inspired as they are confusing. 
> 
> Capitalization is optional to that man, and I love it.
> 
> Thank you to all my patient readers, you guys are the best for waiting so long. There's been some mix ups in my real life, and I'm dreadfully sorry they've impacted my ability to write as much as they have. You guys don't deserve it! I hope I'll be able to keep a more timely schedule, because everyone whose stuck with this for so long is just fantastic.


	19. Out of the Frying Pan

Bilbo ran as fast as he could down the dark tunnels, and suddenly found himself in a nightmare.

All about him were shouting and shrieking goblins, some on fire, and the cavern was filled with roaring red fires giving off a hideous black smoke. In the middle of all this calumny were rows and rows of sweating and nervous dwarves who very much looked like they wanted to bolt but for some reason their legs refused to unglue from the bumpy floor. Their knees twitched like the flanks of a racehorse beset by stinging flies, and some of them were furiously slapping themselves to put out their clothes which had been lit on fire when a blazing goblin had come too close, but still they stayed. A loud roaring came from one corner, where the largest goblin Bilbo had ever seen was screaming at a cowering and gibbering horde while flailing a sword that glowed so bright with hatred it almost outshone all the dark and winding smoke.

It is no wonder then that Bilbo stood quite stupefied! I daresay no one could have possibly recovered themselves quicker, save perhaps Gandalf, and no one could possible blame Bilbo for standing so perfectly still and quiet that absolutely no one took any notice of him at all amidst the chaos.

In fact, a few goblins flew shrieking past him alight on flame and he scarcely so much as blinked, his eyes were so impossibly wide. They took no notice of him either, (not that they were in a position to notice much at all), and it seemed almost nothing could rouse him from his petrification at such an awe-inspiring hodgepodge of mayhem before him.

Fortunately for all involved, and for Bilbo’s neck, the angry light from Orcrist shone brightly through the miasma and alit upon the mithril hair beads upon Thorin’s hair that marked him as a member of the line of Durin. Ah! Happy beads! They shone most terribly in the dark, agleam like stars, and Bilbo’s eyes could not help but be drawn to them like the light at the end of a hideously long and dark tunnel. A glad cry of “Thorin!” was ripped from his throat as he sprung forward as swift and bounding as a hart to his long-lost and much-misplaced dwarf.

Thorin’s beads swung wide as he jerked his head towards the sound of his name, just as he began to draw out the stalactite in his jacket, and whatever noise he made in return was swallowed up by the howling and hueing that echoed about the cave. Bilbo leapt towards his dwarf with as much speed as his small legs could muster, his sword in his hand glowing brightly with joy, like a shooting star speeding towards its goal heedless of the constellations it disrupts in its path.

It looked as though there would soon be a reunion between the two, if not for a fire-maddened goblin barreling through, his claws and teeth bared in his madness, hacking and slashing at anything in his way of escape. Bilbo cried out in fear as the goblin leapt towards Thorin, intending to cut him down and push past him, but just as Bilbo was extending his sword and willing his legs to move faster, Thorin gave a magnificent thrust with his stalactite and the goblin fell pierced before him. Bilbo was now close enough to hear Thorin roaring to him as he struggled to pull out the now slippery shard, and this is what he heard:

**“BILBO! RUN! GET OUT OF HERE!”**

“Thorin!” cried Bilbo, rather less elegantly.

**”GO! THE DWARVES CANNOT MOVE UNTIL THE GREAT GOBLIN IS FELLED! WE CANNOT HELP YOU! RUN! SAVE YOURSELF!”**

“Thorin!” cried Bilbo again, even less elegantly than before.

Thorin, having freed his weapon, began lashing out at more goblins that began to get too close to his fellow dwarves. Bilbo, having no intention of turning tail now, (and what a different hobbit that makes him, compared to the one who set out from his hobbit hole so very long ago!), looked about wildly, and upon spotting the not-very-hard-to-miss Great Goblin, began to duck and run towards him sword aloft.

**“BILBO! BILBO!”** bellowed Thorin after him, but Bilbo was once again out of his hearing. If he had been closer he might have heard something along the lines of “That’s the wrong direction you brainless hobbit!” but he was not and so who’s to say it was ever said at all.

The Great Goblin, for his part, was far beyond all hearing. His roars were now wordless shrieks of rage, his swings wild and broad, with many dead and cowering before him. His sight was clouded with a blood-red mist, his nose sensing only smoke and blood, his hearing filled with nothing but his own voice and heartbeat. Orcrist was burning his hand, but he had not the sense left to feel it, his arms were burning from exhaustion, but he had not the soundness of mind left to note it, his back covered with a waterfall of sweat, but he had not the patience to care about it. Orcrist shone with hatred for its wielder, and hatred for the goblins before it, and joy at their destruction, and above all a fury at how it was causing it. Elvish weapons were never meant to serve the hands of foul masters!

Little Bilbo did not even reach past the Great Goblins knees, but still he charged on. Upon seeing its brethren Orcrist gave a joyful burst of light and Bilbo’s little dagger answered in kind as bright as it could. Both swords left trails of light as their wielders swung them back and forth heedlessly, the Great Goblin in his crazed mania, and Bilbo in his inexperience. Bilbo finally ran close enough to the Great Goblin that his strokes hit, and his little sword effortlessly sliced through the back of the Great Goblin’s knee. His leg immediately gave out below him, and in his surprise he dropped Orcrist just as he swung it above his head.

He had sealed his doom!

Orcrist plunged down, so sharp it split the air with a shrieking whistle like the cry of an eagle seizing its prey and cleaved right through the Great Goblin’s neck. The Great Goblin’s head rolled forward, forever sealed in an expression the greatest surprise.

Poor Bilbo, who had never even so much as seen a chicken be butchered as he had all his meats delivered, was shocked as the Great Goblins body slowly fell forward. With nerveless fingers, he picked up the bloodied Orcrist as behind him a great yell arose up from the dwarves. Their collars were masterless, and they were armed. Soon the goblins were crying out from more than fear of the fire.

 

The dwarves had been freed. And they were fighting back.

 

 

The goblins were scattered, leaderless and aflame, gibbering in the darkness as the dwarves heedlessly charged forward with their crude weapons aloft. Soon broad hands gripped rusted blades as they overran their captors and took their weapons for their own, and then the goblins really knew fear.

The dwarves, having been held for so long, knew most of the twisty paths and pushed and shoved as fast as they could for the nearest exist in a seething leaderless mob. Thorin found himself in the middle, carrying Orcrist in his fist and Bilbo upon his back. (Bilbo had much smaller legs and truthfully could not even hope to keep up. The other dwarves were not very inclined to slow down for him.). Later paintings would show Thorin gallantly leading the charge surrounded by an inexplicable light, but for now, Thorin had to content himself with no light and the push and pull of the rather fragrant mob that surrounded him.

It did not take as long as they later reckoned it did to find the door, as that flight felt as though it would never end, but find it they did. They did not stop to collapse and pant nearby, but heedlessly poured out into the forests and began to run like a herd of very determined bull in no particular direction. No one could have said who chose it, they simply ran that way because everyone else had run that way, like a very short avalanche. Eventually Thorin gathered his wits about him and shouted, “Stop! Stop!” 

The whole herd eventually slowed and collapsed panting in exhaustion. They stared at Throin, who placed Bilbo down on his feet and leapt up onto a tree stump.

“My brothers!”

A cheer arose.

“My brothers, we are free!”  
A bigger cheer arose. 

“And now-“

Another cheer.

“-yes, yes, _now_ -”

A fourth cheer.

“-will you quiet down for goodness sake?”

One lone dwarf cheered in the very back.

“As I was saying, and _now_ we must figure out where we are, and how to get back to Erebor!”

No order on earth could have stopped the ragged cheer that arose at the name of “Erebor”, and Thorin had not the heart to try to shush that one.

“Now brothers, it seems we have gone _through_ the Misty Mountains, and that is good, for if I reckon right we are on the side we want to be on. All well and good! But the road is long, and soon the goblins will regroup. We must get very far away before nightfall to give them the slip for good, and we must go in the right direction. Does anyone know where the Great River lies?”

And here there was much muttering and consternation and butting of heads and hot exclamations of “That way!” “No you ninny, it’s _that_ way!” but eventually the dwarves settled on a direction and began to march.

A dwarf can march for a very long time on very little, but it is not so with hobbits. Soon Thorin found himself again hoisting up Master Baggins upon his back, and there he gently clung to Thorin and lightly snored in his ear as Thorin contemplated the strange turns his life had taken and just how he should react to them. Bilbo snuffled lightly and tucked his face into the crook of Thorin’s neck completely and blissfully oblivious.

 

The goblins, for their part, were very much in disarray. Their leader had been killed, and a veritable army of dwarves had marched out. Had it been a smaller group, perhaps they would have sent runners out after them. Perhaps if it had been a medium sized group with a wizard, they would have forgotten the whole thing and gone to meet the wargs for the planned raid they had that night. Perhaps if they hadn’t suddenly found themselves with no workers at all they would have been content to lick their wounds. Perhaps, if they had been called by their dark master to the War of Five Armies instead of their brethren in the Grey Mountains, they might have been too weak to leave their caves.

But alas, it wasn’t so.

So the goblins called upon their oldest ally, the wargs. They called with horn and drum, and the wargs answered. The last time Gandalf had crossed these mountains, he and the dwarves had entirely avoided warg and goblin both, and thus, not even Gandalf could say what their numbers were. But out of the forests they flowed, sleek grey bodies prowling with too many joints in their limbs and too much intelligence behind their eyes, and far, far too much evil in their souls.

The goblins planned no slapdash raid. They gathered their clan, and left who they could to protect their mountain, and they assembled their weapons and beat down their armor. It took many days, but a warg can smell you weeks after you’ve passed.

The goblins marched to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! I'm so sorry for the very long wait. I told you this fic would never be abandoned, and I keep my word! Real life decided to bite rather hard, but I'm back on my feet for now. I cannot say what the update schedule will look like, but this will be finished come hell or highwater. Thank you all for reading!


	20. Into the Fire

The dwarves marched all night, and they marched all day. Many of them were sick from overwork and underfeeding, for goblins will work their slaves until they die from want of sunlight, and many of them carried wounds. But they leaned on each other and swarmed over the rocks and bracken of the forest, marching in a huge herd around trees and over gullies until they came to a gigantic cliff. To decide which way to march along the cliff side, they spun one of Thorin’s hair beads, which landed with the Crest of Durin face up. So they followed the cliff to the left, in the hopes that there would soon be a way down it.

Any group can only march for as long as it can find food, and the dwarves were not in the position to trap and certainly not to farm. Even if the wargs had not been such magnificent hunters, they still would have found tracking Thorin’s band an easy task as the dwarves in their hunger stripped the very bark from the trees to gnaw at as they marched onwards. Woe betide any animal that came in their way! In truth they were such a noisy bunch that no fleet footed animals were in danger, but there was more than one bird that came home to an empty nest and rocks thrown at them. It was dismal, grim tidings for the dwarves (and for poor Bilbo, he was just as hungry as the rest of them!) but they dared not stop. Dwarves, it has been remarked upon, seem to be comprised almost entirely of stubbornness and rocks. Some have even claimed their very flesh was rocks that refused to admit they couldn’t possibly be muscles. Bilbo, who spent most of his time ensuring he didn’t brain himself on Thorin’s hard shoulders when Thorin ran, would most likely have absolutely believed it.

That’s not to say Bilbo didn’t pull his own weight during that hideous, franticly grim march, for he walked whenever he could and often slipped ahead of the dwarves in silence to hunt and forage for food. He was the most successful at bringing back provisions, but even a hobbit’s talents for foraging pale in comparison to the appetites of such a large group of dwarves. (There has been some debate among Elvin scholars as to what a group of dwarves it to be called. Some staunchly stand by a “confusion of dwarves”, while others declare it is much more accurate to call them a “landslide”.)

Things were looking very grim for the dwarves, and that, of course, is when the wargs caught up with them.

 

Wargs, as I’m sure you know, are tremendously large and strong. That goes double if you’re only three feet tall. They can carry a goblin and spoils of war at the pace of a swift horse for hours. Really, none of the dwarves (and not even Bilbo, sheltered as he was) expected to be able to outrun them forever. And that is why they very sensibly whittled spears out of branches and chipped bits of rock, as well as a host of other weapons like slingshots and crude bows. If you leave a dwarf in a forest, when you return you will find the exact same dwarf now bristling with weapons.  
When the wargs, with the goblin hoard on their backs, finally caught up with Thorin and his confusion of dwarves, the dwarves were determined, armed, freed, and had their backs up against the huge cliff face. They were also incandescently angry.

The wargs and the goblins had the benefit of good provisions, actual weapons, and larger numbers. It was still a terrific fight- while it lasted. Thorin, in a move that historians would claim was a brilliant piece of strategy and military analysts would claim as an amazing bout of lunacy, ordered everyone up into the trees. Up they swarmed, pulling the weak (or in Bilbo’s case, the very short) up behind them while those on the ground defended the climbers. Soon they were all ensconced in the tall fir trees, and slingshots and arrows kept the goblins from climbing up after them.

Now, for a short while, they were at an impasse. I’m sure it’s quite obvious that there was no way the goblins would leave on their own accord, and of course wargs never leave prey they’ve treed, and that the dwarves now had no hope of running anywhere once their slings and arrows ran out. The dwarves were well and truly trapped, and the goblins knew it.

With their prey now effectively on pause, as it were, the goblins and the wargs settled down (out of range) to decide what to do. It was obvious they had won, which pleased them, but it was equally obvious that they now had to decide what to do with their spoils. For hours they bickered and quarreled- how best to divide the slaves? Previously the Great Goblin had owned all, but there was no clear successor to his rickety poorly made throne. Should they split them up, with a slave for every goblin? But there were not enough, who would go without? Should they now decide their new chieftain? It was clear, of course, that anyone who had not rushed after the slaves and remained guarding their homes was not fit to be their leader. Clearly one of the conquering band was the rightful heir by force. But who? Each claimed they were the natural choice, and loudly squabbled and beat each other in an effort to prove they were far stronger than this puny upstart next to them. The wargs were disinclined to stop them, as the wargs did not care particularly who one and did care for free entertainment. The wargs had a clear system of pack hierarchy and it amused them greatly to see their allies in such turmoil over such a simple thing. Trust a goblin to make a mess!

The dwarves were almost forgotten about as the cries grew louder and more vicious, and the weapons started to be brandished. Fires had been lit before the whole question arose, and left untended they sparked and snapped as goblins tussling about kicked sand and pinecones into them. Soon enough a pair of heirs-apparent rolled into one of the fires in their carelessness, heedless of anything that was not their rival’s fists. They very quickly became aware of their surroundings as their clothes caught fire, and in a panic they scrambled in opposite directions yelping loudly. Goblins are terrible camp makers, and so there were many pine needles, branches, died grass, and other bracken close to the fire pit, and these soon caught aflame. Now the dwarves knew terror! They were trapped, and watched as the goblins ran about yammering and hollering, dumping their brackish water skins and tossing dirt onto the flames. It was a dry autumn, and the blaze spread terrifically fast. If someone had told Bilbo the flames were enchanted to be impossible to put out, he would have believed them whole heartedly. Bilbo was quite certain he was about to die in a Douglas fir, and it did not even have the decency to be the one Thorin was in.

It was those very flames that turned out to be their salvation. For high above the inferno soared the Chieftain of the Eagles of Manwë, Gwaihir. Ah, Gwaihir! Long were his talons and keen was his sight, first among the Great Eagles, Lord of the Wind! He and a few of his brethren were out a-hunting that night, but upon seeing the smoke and flame from a distance beat their great wings and soared in the updraft it created to go investigate.

The Eagles of Manwë were no ordinary eagles as we think of eagles today. These were giant eagles, bigger than three horses and wiser than three kings. They had been sent from Valinor to fight Morgoth and later his vile protégé Sauron, and to resist all their evil works. And Gwaihir was their leader, the strongest of Manwë’s Eagles in the Third Age. It was this titian of his time that beheld the curious spectacle of a landslide of dwarves clinging to the branches of fir trees like so many ornaments while a veritable mountain of goblins and wargs scurried like dark ants around the flames that set the cliff side aglow.

Were Gwaihir alone, or with only a few of his eyrie by his side, there is no doubt that many of the dwarves would have perished that night. But five flew that night, and with their mighty wings they beat down upon the fire. Each powerful blast of air left an emptiness behind it, and Bilbo was sure he would die for want of air. First the smoke, then the winds, stole the air from his lungs. His vision swam, his grip upon his branch was like iron out of sheer panic, and he had absolutely no idea what was going on. One minute all was smoke and terror, and then there were strange winds from the sky that made the flames flicker in and out of existence. Noise was impossible; there was only the terrible rushing of the wind and the loud groaning of the firs. Finally it ended, and Bilbo lifted his head to behold five giant eagles snatching warg and goblin alike and as the dying flame smoldered in low sullen patches. The goblins and wargs shrieked and scattered. Some of them had the wits to throw their swords at the eagles, but they glanced off the thick feathers and fell to the ground useless. Even if the goblins and wargs had not been in a panic and on fire, they would have had no chance against the court of the Lord of Eagles, who had turned the tides of battles with far larger armies.

Soon the horde was no more, and the Eagles perched regally (and a touch smugly) on large fallen trunks of trees long gone. The dwarves were not inclined to let go of their branches after seeing exactly what those beaks and talons could do. Thorin, plucking up his courage, addressed the Eagles.

“Hail Eagles! Our most hearty and heart-filled gratitude for your assistance in our hour of need. I, Thorin II, called Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, and my entire company are at your service.”

“Well met, King Under the Mountain. I am called Gwaihir, the Windlord. Climb down from those branches, and let us hear your tale.”

And so all the dwarves scrambled down from the trees and once more firmly planted their feet on their beloved ground. Bilbo by all rights should have been one of the first on the ground, as he was on one of the lowest branches, but he was disinclined to release the branch that had served him so well. For one, it was a very sturdy and comforting branch, and for another, he was dreadfully dizzy and out of breath from all the commotion and smoke. He was also very much not inclined to get any closed to the giant predators he had just seen fling full grown wargs about like rag dolls with giant beaks that could fit him thrice over without stopping to chew. And he was quite certain he had been knocked about more than was healthy for his wits, because he could have sworn Thorin just called himself a King.

 

Eventually Bilbo did slowly come back down to earth, and in the meantime Thorin had almost finished his tale to Gwaihir.

“Well! That is most astonishing. Our thanks for slaying The Great Goblin, long has he been an arrow in our wings. We know of your mountain, and were there the battle you were taken from. A thousand curses on the maker of the first collar! We treasure our freedom, and the freedom of all Eru’s creatures. Your unhappy state is an anathema to the very wind under our wings. But I was not aware that you had been taken, King Under the Mountain. Why did you not speak up there on the field?”

And here Thorin explained how he would rather die than be ransomed back, and that Thranduil had marched upon them in the first place for their gold, and none would go to him as long as Thorin drew breath. Thranduil had, when he first marched, nothing to compel Thorin’s company to part with their treasure but spears. If Thorin or Fili had been known to be in his possession, he would have been able to compel a hefty ransom from the dwarves. As it was, Thranduil already held such fury in his heart for the dwarves that he refused to sell his captives to Dain or the company within the mountain.

And at this, Thorin raged at the elf’s cold heartedness for a long while. Many of the collars had been attached to the dwarves as they lay insensate in elvish healing tents. After the battle where all had joined against the orcs and goblins, it was assumed that all sides would be safe with each other. Later the elves would contend it was the men who placed collars on the necks of the wounded, not the elves. And the men of Laketown would say it was not them at all, but a group of traveling slavers who had stopped in Laketown before the battle and had gotten unwittingly trapped there. The dwarves did not forget any of the accusations.

Thorin, of course, not knowing all of the particulars, chose to lay the blame all at Thranduil’s feet, which shocked Gwahir but did not surprise him as it would have of old. Even the elves were not free from the siren call of the collars, as the sad and bloody history of the Noldor will tell you. At any rate, as historians have debated over and over, there is no doubt that at least some of the dwarves were in Elvish tents and under Elvish protect when they were collared.

Gwahir concluded that he would not have been favorable to revealing who he was either, for although the Lord of the Wind held no love of gold, he certainly would counsel against letting a hostile leader know you were completely at his mercy.

 

Bilbo, for his part had been quietly absorbing the entire scene. Hobbits have been called “rabbit-like” by some Big Folk, and in truth (though Bilbo would be very affronted by the comparison) they do in fact share some notable similarities. Hobbits are very good at being so still people cease to notice they’re there at all, and they are very, very good listeners.

So Bilbo listened, and he thought, and as Gwahir and Thorin negotiated with many high elaborate turns of phrase and largely poetical compliments he went almost entirely unnoticed.

Gwahir would have in all likelihood flown Thorin and his company to their eyries so they could rest out of the wild, if only the company had not been so terrifically large. Instead, the eagles gently picked up each dwarf and took them down the large cliff side, which they never would have been able to cross on their own. While three eagles took on the laborious task of transporting a landslide of dwarves, two others flew off to hunt. They returned with large does and wild boars, and the dwarves gave such a cheer it nearly launched them into the sky.

Bilbo was so quiet, in fact, that he nearly missed the feast entirely. It took the sharpest eyed eagle to spot him standing and thinking, and almost every dwarf had already been carried down the cliff. Bilbo was decidedly not quiet when he was approached, and strove to make the eagle understand that he was fine, thank you very much, that hobbits and heights did not mix well at all, and for goodness sake please don’t oh no why me. The eagle was much amused and laughed about it with the others in their strange tongue, and Bilbo was almost put out enough to be distracted entirely.

But the eagles did not distract him, and the roasted venison did not distract him (though it was a near thing), and the sight of Thorin laughing with several other dwarves did not in the least distract him from his thoughts.

Bilbo was Deciding What To Do.


End file.
